


The Undone & The Divine

by Gaffat



Category: Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: Avoiding Angst Like the Plague, Blood Drinking, Drac has an existential crisis, F/M, Frenemies with Benefits, Kind of OT3 - esque, M/M, Mind Games, Snark, Unresolved Tension, Voyeurism, dual personalities, vampire lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22490692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaffat/pseuds/Gaffat
Summary: Takes place post-The Dark Compass. Both waking up from their mutual deaths with renewed purpose, Count Dracula and Zoe Van Helsing (with Agatha's mind still in tow) find themselves faced with an eternity of each other. How in the hell will they ever cope?
Relationships: Dracula & Agatha Van Helsing, Dracula & Zoe Van Helsing, Dracula/Original Character(s)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 132





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> “Wherever this shadowed path might lead, we were both irrevocably committed to follow it to the end.” - Susan Kay, Phantom

The first thought that arose in Zoe’s mind was simply that she shouldn’t be having any. _No_ , an inward argument seemed to be countering, but that she had been growing accustomed to. Faith was an inner struggle she was stubbornly coming to terms with, given that there was a very literal opposing force in her ancestor that enjoyed prodding at her modern, atheistic convictions. Not even in religious fervor, nun’s habit notwithstanding, but just for amusement’s sake. She could see where she inherited her argumentative nature from. 

Head swimming, potential psychosis or no, she had expected at least death to be final. A distant bell of alarm jolted somewhere in her mind, as some sense of memory and consciousness began to return to her, soon followed by sensation seeping back to her body. She expected the worst, but what she experienced instead was simply…nothing. The pain which had been her constant companion for the last few months was gone. She didn’t even feel the typical stiffness of a woman pushing forty waking up on a cold, hard surface should rightly feel. 

_Cold, hard surface…_

Her eyelids shot open, and she sat up so quickly she felt immediately dizzy. _At least there was still blood to rush to my head_ , she mused dimly, though luckily her legs hadn’t gotten the fight or flight message quite as quickly, or else she would have tumbled straight onto the floor. The hard, polished marble beneath her, still sticky with her blood, brought the events of the morning, however distant they were, rushing back to her.

If this wasn’t some twisted form of coma dream, and she wasn’t actually hooked up to some machine at the hospital, she was going to have to have a chat with Auntie Agatha about consenting to suicide by vampire. Mostly due to the fact she was very much alive – or at the very least, moving and conscious. Her hand pressed to her neck, feeling nothing but dried blood surrounding a slightly raised scar at the crook of her shoulder.

Not always equivalent, she reminded herself with barely repressed panic. Or maybe Agatha reminded her. It was becoming harder and harder to tell the difference.

But what of the vampire? 

Half freezing in the semi-darkness, Zoe waited what felt like a decade, searching for any sound or sign of movement in the room…in the flat. Nothing. Silence. 

The natural curiosity of the scientist, refusing to lay dormant any longer, pushed past her fear and uncertainty, and drove her to slide off the edge of the table on shaking legs. There was no sign of Dracula, dead or alive that she could see. Instead her eyes sought out a light switch. 

She half expected to see a large pile of dust and ash, or worse – some sticky pile of blood and skin, like a B-horror film she’d seen as a teenager, but aside of what remained of Lucy, the floor was immaculate, in only the way the living dead could maintain. 

Strangely lacking any sense of urgency, she paced through the rest of the flat, observing the dark modern decor with a distant amusement that belonged more to Agatha than to herself. The washroom was almost entirely unused, save for the large standing shower, more of a luxury than a necessity, she assumed. The kitchenette seemed to be only taking up space, and while there were a few stray tea bags and a chipped mug, likely belonging to some human help – the lawyer probably, the rest of it was barren. Finally reaching the bedroom, she found the curtains still fully drawn, and the bed large and vacant.

If he survived, he was gone. Some unknown part of her felt a pang of disappointment, and an equal echo of triumph. She wasn’t sure which one to blame Agatha for, and she was left no hints.

Well, that was one mystery solved.

Collapsing on the mattress, Zoe closed her eyes, and did something she never thought she’d have to do: she fell silent and listened for her own heartbeat. At first there was an unnerving stillness. Finally, after approximately 15 seconds (she had been counting), she heard the first soft thump in her chest. Half relieved, she let out a breath, and began counting again – she heard it once more. Faint and very slow, but present, _yes_!

 _Fascinating._ Agatha’s quietly accented tone was one of clinical fascination, something Zoe could ascertain easily as it echoed through her mind.

Zoe quietly agreed. Somehow, she… _they_ were now something more than undead, but less than fully alive. 

Something like the count himself. 

——

There were times that the highly illegal nature of the Harker Institute was a damning thing, and one that caused Zoe great inconvenience. This was not one of those times. A woman previously dying of cancer showing up to work to get a full range of clandestine tests was not something to be trusted to the general public. If she hadn’t been so amazed, she was sure her predecessor would’ve been highly disappointed to see her. 

She had left Dracula’s London flat exactly as it was, and headed straight to the Institute. It wasn’t exactly a police matter, and now that Agatha had destroyed the vampire’s …agoraphobia? Whatever it was she had done, there wasn’t anything they could really do to ward him away. The sun was no longer a viable weapon, and while she was sure his distaste for Christian imagery wouldn’t just vanish overnight, his need to be invited into a location was gone and probably easily forgotten when convenient. 

The dirt…well, that was a different story. She found no trace of it in his flat, save for a musty residue in the corner of a now empty closet. That was the one part of the puzzle she had yet to figure out. Was that just another part of his self-ordained folklore, or did it actually have some restorative power. Did it contain some needed mineral or compound? Surely there was a scientific reason behind it if so.

_As scientific as why you’re walking around with half the blood you need to function? Or that you haven’t eaten in 36 hours and have no appetite. You can drink water, at least, that’s a blessing._

She refrained from voicing her annoyance aloud – last thing she needed was for her colleagues to think she was undead AND crazy. Neither of which was entirely true… or entirely false. At least they weren’t locking her up. Not yet. 

“Dr. Helsing?” 

Zoe shook herself from her thoughts to look up at the lab tech who’s just entered the room, giving the girl a distant smile. 

“Yes?” 

“Dr. Bloxham wants to see you downstairs…it’s about your test results.”

Which test results she wanted to ask, but didn’t, merely got up and followed the girl who was taking great pains to keep a healthy distance between them out of the room. She didn’t blame her. It had taken Jonathan Harker a month to show any vampiric urges. They saw her as a ticking time bomb. 

——

“Well, for the positive, any trace of cancer seems to have…vanished from your system.”

Zoe had guessed as much, and perhaps her lack of reaction was what brought the look of concern to her colleague’s face.

“And for the negative?” 

The other woman silently bit her lip for a moment, and instead of immediately responding, she stood from her chair and gestured for Zoe to take the seat in front of the computer. 

Pointing from over her shoulder, Bloxham indicated two files in the folder in front of her. One was labeled with Zoe’s name, and the other was data collected from Dracula’s blood sample. 

“What’re you trying to show me?” She sounded tired, and perhaps she was. It was hard to tell anymore. The enfeebled exhaustion she had felt constantly up until the night before was gone, but the memory lingered like a bad taste in her mouth.

“Open them.” The comment was clipped, but more in anticipation than impatience. 

Zoe did just that, and looked over the standard blood analysis results. To say the differences were minimal was almost too generous. 

“I don’t know what happened to you exactly – given you won’t tell me…,” she began, eyeing Zoe with a meaningful look, “But your DNA is…I don’t want to say mutated, but…altered. You’re alive, don’t get me wrong – but your readings all look as though they should come from someone on the verge of death – in a coma at the least! And well…look at you.” It was rhetorical, Zoe knew, but she still found herself seeking out the nearest reflective surface, just to ensure she saw her own face as she knew it looking back at her. 

“I can’t force you, but I’m going to strongly recommend you stay here so you can be closely monitored for any further….changes.” 

Zoe, never one to be a victim of circumstance, rolled her eyes with a casual scoff. If she was going to be anyone’s lab rat, it might as well be her own. 

“Well, obviously. I want every even minimal change documented to the fullest,” she agreed, immediately standing to her feet and stalking over to a microscope she knew without needing to ask contained a slide of her sample, rerouting her focus. “Have you compared the saliva?” 

The other woman’s relief was palpable. Or maybe she could smell it? Zoe shook that possibility off, quickly, refusing to jump to that particular conclusion quite so quickly. 

“Still waiting for the full analysis, but what I do have is Dracula’s sample, which is frankly…fascinating,” Dr. Bloxham stated excitedly, eyeing Zoe with a curious expression as she approached, her caution taking a backseat to her excitement. 

“Oh?” A woman after her own heart.

“Yes… take a look,” she offered, changing the slides quickly and offering the scope back for her perusal. “It contains some almost psychotropic like compound. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Zoe felt her body temperature rise for the first time since she’d awoken in London. She wasn’t sure if she had the circulation to blush, but she dearly hoped not. For once, there was no snarky Dutch echo in her mind – in fact, aside from a flash of orange light, and blink of another memory she couldn’t latch onto, her mind went suspiciously quiet. 

“Yes. Fascinating.”


	2. Indestructible

Frank Renfield considered himself a generally normal man, by all intents and purposes. In fact, he had always been considered normal to the point of being right boring, so it was he himself who was most surprised how easily he had adjusted to playing personal assistant, in matters both legal and practical, to a blood drinking supernatural entity. On that note, it was with only minimal confusion that he found himself returning to his residence after a resolutely boring day at the office, to find his front door broken half off the hinges, and a trail of thick, congealing blood leading through his sitting room straight through to the loo. 

“Master?” He called, uneasily, taking care to hop over a particularly dark pool seeping out from under the door. 

He was met with silence, save for a subtle gurgling sound that brought a wince to his face, though it was not coming from his loo any more, but from the spare bedroom directly adjacent. He used to have a flatmate, but he’d moved months ago. The room now contained nothing but junk, some gym equipment he never used, and a few large crates that Count Dracula had asked him to store, though why he had no idea. 

“C-count?” Renfield stammered, his hand turning the knob. Taking a deep, staggered breath, he finally pushed open the door. 

The treadmill in the corner of the room, heavy and outdated as it was, was toppled and resting almost completely upside down. A box of heavy and expensive law tomes had been dumped out across the floor, and the box was now leaking a dark liquid which had soaked through the cardboard. The lid of one of the large wooden crates was splintered, and half-resting against the back of the door, making it impossible to push all the way open, though Renfield could see well enough from the hall that the crate was now overflowing with some sort of dark soil, and it was the tall form of what he assumed to be his master that was splayed at an unnatural angle inside of it, though he did not look like his suave and put together self.

His shirt was torn, and stained almost entirely in various shades of black, red and rust brown. His hair was graying in reverse, as though the color had dripped out of the roots, plastered around his aging face. 

_“Renfield…”_

He heard the name whispered inside his mind, Frank realized with mild horror, because the sound that came from the creature in front of him was too much of a croak to contain any proper syllables. Finding the strength to force himself into the room, he rushed to the vampire’s side only to realize with a strange sort of amusement that the entire mess seemed to be due to Dracula vomiting all over his flat much like he had after his first college party. A stomach ache for a vampire, apparently was much worse than for a hungover teenage boy, however.

“Master! You seem to have eaten someone very unhealthy for you…. One moment.” 

Dodging around the pools of what he could only assume was half-digested blood, Frank squeezed back out of the room and came back with a sterile bag of B-positive that he cautiously presented to the weakened form. 

“Picked it up from the blood bank this morning… nuclear physicist, visiting from Sweden…seemed to be a wasted opportunity,” he offered, weakly, but he needn’t have bothered. The vampire had already punctured the bag with one of his ghastly sharpened nails before he’d opened his mouth and was sucking it down with a sharp and unsettling growl, and Renfield didn’t stay around to watch.

“I’ll go and…fetch something more lively, hm?” And with that he scuttled out of the room, before the count could regain the strength to seek out the next source of sustenance in sight…mainly him.

——-

_“How are you feeling?”_

_“Indestructible.”_

Indestructible. That had been the word he’d used, just before the ship had sent him to his century long sleep. He never thought for a moment that it would be true, nor that he would have any reason to lament that fact. And yet… here he laid. Weak, indeed. In pain, surely. But very much alive… as alive as he could get anyway. He had forced himself to ingest the poison, and he had waited for death’s sweet embrace. _Nothing._ He just laid there, the sun beaming directly into his eyes, his stomach roiling like it hadn’t done since he was an insipid mortal, and yet he never even lost consciousness! For once he had sought out oblivion, instead of fighting it, and it wouldn’t take him! The nerve! He had given death hundreds…thousands over the years! And she would still turn him away like some sort of petulant beggar. 

It was hours before he decided that if death wasn’t going to be quick about it that there really was no use waiting around. Zoe’s body lay stiff beside him, and though he knew the likelihood was slim, the sick ones rarely did more than rot, he left her there just in case. If he were any less…himself, he would’ve labeled it a blind, potential hope that she would rise again. That if he were going to be stuck being alive (not that it wasn’t her bloody fault he was suddenly so _aggravated_ by that!), that maybe she would be stuck with him. Would serve them right… the Van Helsing women, the biggest inconveniences he’d had in his whole un-life. 

He couldn’t stay there…that boy knew where he was, and would no doubt send someone to look for him, or return himself. He considered, of course, waiting around, but honestly he didn’t even know if a stake to the heart was worth bothering to test at this rate. All of his other beliefs were useless… his fears. Why would he think just because it’s worked on some half-mad fledglings it would even work on him? Luckily he knew better than to keep his potentially useless dirt all in one place, at the least. Would he eventually regenerate without it? He didn’t know anymore. All his memories seemed to twist and deform. And with five centuries worth, that was an awful lot. 

A chance he decided not to take. If he survived this, he would need to buy his lawyer new carpet. He would need to do a lot of things. Perhaps venture south of the equator. 

——

It was fascinating how much the lack of needing to eat and sleep as often, nor attend five different doctors, affected her time management skills. Zoe felt like she never ran out of time, for research or reading or…well, that was it really. That was what she devoted her time to – not just for the sake of others now, but for her own future. So much so that not leaving the institute didn’t really seem like a confinement at all, even though that was precisely what it was. 

As the days turned into a week, the other doctors – her friends, her colleagues, became even more unsettled by her presence. Not because she looked, or behaved like a walking corpse, but just the sheer lack of human ‘distractions’ she participated in. Also the constant shifting of vocal inflection didn’t seem to help.

Apparently Sister Agatha Van Helsing was not going anywhere. Either she wasn’t able to, didn’t want to, or had permanently infected her mind. She was beginning to get used to it. She had to wonder if Dracula himself ever had issues like this with anyone. Did Agatha hound him to? How much of his personality is his own and how much is taken from his victims? One had to assume it was the superstition of his victim pool that had tainted his own beliefs – that and the fact that even he refused to embrace the art of being a predator with limitless power. 

She sincerely hoped that wherever he’d gone to, he’d kept that in mind. Something told her, however, that he wasn’t actually that far. It wasn’t a voice, or any particular deductive reasoning that gave her that knowledge. It was just something she knew, however unsettling that fact was. 

“Zoe!” 

She frowned, blinking out of her daze. Dr. Bloxham was blocking her from pacing back to the computer where she’d been unconsciously headed. 

“Love, you have got to get out of here for a while. You haven’t slept longer than 3 hours a night since you’ve been here, you barely eat. You need to take a break.” 

Zoe sighed, reluctantly relenting her attention. 

“My body’s becoming intolerant to certain…things, I’m currently trying to find out what it _isn’t_ intolerant to. And what it’s desperately lacking – iron, for starters. Does that help?” 

“Great. We’ll figure out what it’s intolerant to at the pub, before you drive yourself batty… no pun intended.” 

“I don’t drink,” she protested, but found herself shrugging out of her lab coat anyway.

“You stopped drinking because you were ill, which you no longer are,” the other woman protested, quite logically unfortunately, taking the coat from her. “Besides, there’s food there as well, which you desperately need, and sunlight would do you good. Have you even tried to eat anything but crisps and Chinese take away? Maybe you need something a little more tangible, that’s all.”

She sincerely doubted it, but anything – even tossing up her guts at a pub – was better than everyone looking at her like some sort of foreign contagion. She wasn’t a vampire. Not yet, and if she could help it, she never would be. 


	3. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is very short, but leads to better things, I promise.

“Has anyone ever told you what horrible taste you have?” 

Frank startled out of an already fitful sleep, his vision blurry as he squinted into the dark at the tall shadow looming in front of his wardrobe, hearing more than seeing the disappointed frown that no doubt graced his face. 

“Actually, yes,” He replied with a nervous chuckle, blindly grasping until he found his glasses atop his bedside table, and flicked on his lamp as well, flooding the room with warm light. 

The vampire, now looking far more like his normal self despite being stark nude and dripping water on the rug, let out a soft tut of disappointment, rifling with audible impatience through the contents until he finally seemed to be settling for a pale grey button down and a pair of rather expensive trousers that he had tucked away in the far back of the closet. 

“I could go fetch some of your clothes from your flat, if you’d like,” he offered brightly, though immediately regretted speaking, as Dracula turned on him with a stern expression. 

_“No.”_

“Of course,” Renfield squeaked in response, suddenly feeling cold despite the duvet still covering his lower half.

“You are not to go there. I will do that later.”

Truth be told, the count wasn’t sure if he would. His first instinct, the instinct that had kept him alive all these years was telling him he should cut ties with the place and not go back, much as he had done before when he’d been exposed for what he was. But given recent developments – was there even anything worth running from? Honestly, an illegal research facility and a love-sick doctor in training – he’d dealt with so much worse. 

No, he supposed, as he pulled on the trousers, not bothering with rifling through Renfield’s underwear drawer - god only knew what he kept in there - what he was really dreading had nothing to do with existential fear. It was going back after a week of sleep and finding Zoe’s corpse rotting on his dinner table. What a maudlin image. Tragic really – a waste of a mind. Two minds, it would seem. Or worse, finding that she had woken up, only to become some incoherent waste of flesh as well, and having to kill her again. It was never any fun, the second time, even in the best of circumstances. 

There were ways to check, of course. He could usually feel them, his brides. When they woke, when they fed. He had been out of it for days however. He could’ve missed it, and the curiosity was gnawing at him almost as much as the hunger. Renfield had been bringing him sustenance, of course, but nothing could compete with getting it straight from the tap, as it were. He had a hankering for something young and hopeful, usually did the trick when he was out of sorts – though he had a feeling he needed to venture outside of London proper to find it. First thing first, however.

“I’m going out, I’ve called someone in about the mess, they should arrive bright and early,” the count assured the wary man still huddled in his bedclothes. “Don’t concern yourself with an explanation, I informed them that there had been an unfortunate accident and that you really didn’t want to talk about it.” He gave a conspiratorial, if half-hearted, grin as he pulled on the shirt. 

“No guarantee they still won’t assume you’re a murderer, but you should be able to get to work without an interrogation.”

Renfield looked both shocked and relieved. “Oh master, that’s so… kind of you.” He practically winced even as the words left his mouth. Would that be considered an affront to a vampire? 

Dracula’s brows lowered over his eyes. “Hm,” he breathed, taking that development into consideration. “Yes, yes it is, isn’t it? Goodnight Frank.”

—–

For a while, Zoe felt shockingly normal. As normal as she could even remember, anyway. Given her entire life had been a extended familial nightmare that she’d inherited from her very abnormal family, she supposed the least she could expect was better than nothing. She didn’t feel like she was about to throw up (yet), a ghost (if that’s what she was) wasn’t currently trying to dictate her actions, and her whole body didn’t hurt. Ignoring the fact she’d recently died, all was going very well. 

At least that’s what she thought, up until she felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise, despite the otherwise warm air. 

The logician in her immediately checked her surroundings, observing every individual within ten feet of her and yet found nothing of alarm. Still, the feeling lingered on the rest of the afternoon, keeping Zoe ill at ease all through sundown, and beyond. 

Something was different, and she thought she might know what it was.

Excusing herself from the presence of her colleague, who despite her clear concern did not protest, Zoe hurried out to the street and began walking until she saw a cab.

She sincerely hoped they took credit cards.

——

As someone who only breathed when he had a season to, it took a certain level of effort to draw in the first dreaded inhale of air through his nose once Dracula got off the elevator and approached the door of his flat. If there was one thing he knew well, it was the scent of decay. It was a distinctive, sickening sweet aroma in the early stages that devolved as time went on into an all-encompassing miasma. It didn’t nauseate him anymore, not for centuries, but he felt himself recoil in preparation for it nonetheless.

He let the breathe out slowly. _Nothing._

Even with the modern joys of air conditioning, he would smell a corpse - undead or otherwise. Even if it had been removed, there would be traces. And yet…

He pressed his nose into the crack of the door frame, sniffing in earnest now, like a hound trying to pick up a lost trail. 

There was still a lingering hint of the sharpness of blood, but death was not a house guest of his this evening. His lips twitched at the corners, a perplexed smile flitting over his features. 

The door was unlocked, and he pushed forward with no further hesitation. 

Inside all was dark and quiet. Exactly as he’d left it, blood stains and all, but any trace of Zoe was gone. He traced his hand over the table, feeling the raised rust colored smear where, by whatever means, the half-drained woman he’d left there had pushed herself up from death and, from all evidence presented, walked out of his home. 

“Have you lost something?”


	4. Unquenchable

He’d felt her before he heard her, despite her best attempt at startling him, her form partially blocking out the beam of light projecting from the door he hadn’t cared to close. It took more self-control than the Count would ever willingly admit to remain facing away from the source of the voice, if for no other reason than to keep his confusion as close to the vest as possible. He refused to be at a disadvantage again, with her more than anyone.

“Apparently we’ve both underestimated our own resilience,” he remarked, with faint amusement calling back to his comment from the last time they’d met, though he couldn’t rightly include the ‘vampire’ designation. She didn’t _feel_ like a vampire, and yet she was certainly not the sick woman who he’d left for dead. 

“So it would seem,” Zoe agreed, taking a few steps inside despite the agitation she’d felt from a distance ramping up to a fever pitch now that she was actually in his presence. It wasn’t fear – he wasn’t likely to be any danger to her in her current state, not anymore. She was simply _hyper-aware_ of Dracula, and it was causing a strange disconnect between her mind and her body. At least she’d assumed he was the cause of it, but now as she found herself approaching him for closer study, without any inherent want on her part, she wasn’t so sure he alone was to blame.

“Indestructible after all.”

“Yes, I’m afraid Death has turned out to be completely immune to my allure,” the vampire drawled in a good imitation of indifference, finally turning about to meet her approach, head tilting as he took her in with careful consideration.

“ _What_?” She felt herself ask, feeling the weight of his focus drag on a moment too long for her liking.

Dracula ignored her question, approaching closer until she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze, an act she wasn’t accustomed to having to enact that often in her daily life. His hand lifted, brushing her hair off her neck to study the state of his bite. The wound was raised and slightly jagged, but shown white against her skin - evidence of rapid healing, yet no inflammation or scabbing. 

A clear sign of life – real life, in a woman he had murdered a week ago. A wry chuckle reverberated through his chest, previously so still that she could feel it like a distant earthquake.

“Of course it would be you.”

One sharp nail grazed the pierced flesh, and she stood rigid against the tremor that bloomed over her skin until his hand dropped, and his gaze flipped rapidly from probing to analytical. 

“ _Why_ though? Five centuries I’ve been trying to procreate, and it was rare enough I even got within the _realm_ of close. Most recent attempt notwithstanding, perhaps Johnny, but he threw himself off a bloody cliff, and well – he didn’t exactly look very alive towards the end, did he?” he blurted with a scoff, the cogs of his mind whirring as he began to pace in front of the window. They were almost audible, tripping over the obvious until someone couldn’t resist the urge to prod the bear any longer.

“You haven’t figured it out yet? Honestly, Count, maybe you should’ve eaten more doctors.” 

Dracula’s eyes narrowed, catching the muted edge of Dutch hostility he had grown to know far too well over the last century, infuriation and amusement blending imperceptibly on his face. His lips parted, intent on snapping back, but just as quickly he stopped, shut his mouth and took a moment to think. Out of _spite_ , of course.

Then it clicked. 

The count let out a loud guffaw of frustrated laughter, slapping his large hands down on the table with so much force Agatha was surprised it didn’t split down the middle. It was the least collected she had ever seen him outside of a blood frenzy, and it was at first difficult to tell if he were furious or enthused.

“Of course. My blood. _Of course_ ,” he announced, grinning widely to himself, before spinning and turning upon the woman before him, grabbing her by the shoulders, uncaring if she shared in his jubilation or not.

“What was it, Agatha, you told Johnny all those years ago? There was a _contagion_ that was passed from one to another, yes? Oh, you are brilliant. And _heaven’s_ sake, I am an idiot at times, aren’t I?” he mock-sighed, lauding perhaps a little less than an ounce of authenticity to his self-deprecation.

“At times?” She snarked back, despite Zoe’s otherwise well intended vow to not indulge him, leaning back in reluctance to his grip. 

His eyes rolled skyward, tilting his head to look down at her in disappointment, retaining her in his grasp. “Always one to ruin a party.” 

“Only if it’s yours.” 

A pointy-toothed grin slowly overcame his face. “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he shot back, in what could have almost passed for warmth. 

With a brief, forced groan of disgust, Zoe decided it was paramount to take back control of this particular reunion with some sense of urgency before it got off the rails any further. Nudging her shoulders out of his grasp, which he surprisingly didn’t protest, she paced back and looked out the window, “You know I can’t just let you go infect the world with unquenchable bloodlust, Count Dracula.”

“Oh?” He inquired with a small hum of surprise, stuffing his hands as far into his pockets as they would fit. “You don’t look so unquenchable to me…” His tone was mocking, but his eyes shown dark with curiosity. 

“That’s because I’m not like you.”

He looked even more amused. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. Have you been around fresh blood?”

She didn’t respond, but from her stubborn silence he already knew the answer.

“Have you been eating? Sleeping?”

“Some,” Zoe protested, turning back to face him with renewed confidence. “More often than not I’ve been working.”

Dracula looked mildly alarmed at the insinuation, but not for any reason pertaining to himself. “Don’t tell me you went back to that institute? Oh, Zoe. Surely you know that can never end well?”

“You yourself said science is the future, and I very much agree. Which is why I’m going to do everything in power to make sure that I never have to take anyone’s life,” she continued, powering through his protest like the useless distraction it was. She didn’t for a moment think he had any real concern for her well being, vampire or not.

“By starving yourself until some unfortunate intern gets an ill-timed paper cut? Dr. Helsing, they’ll lock you up and throw away the key. Believe me. _I know._ ” 

“I’m not _starving_ myself. The reason you can’t process solid food is because all of your organs stopped functioning centuries ago, I am going to do what I can to make sure that doesn’t happen to me. Plus, there are other ways to intake the nutrients within blood that are necessary to live without using someone else’s veins to do it,” she protested, holding her head high in protest.

His brows wagged, her stubbornness coming as no shock, despite the unfortunate nature of it. If the rest of the Van Helsing bloodline were half as persistent as just one of these women’s weakest moments, he hated to know what the family dinners were like. 

“Fine. Fair enough. If you’re so determined to try that _approach_ I can’t stop you. But don’t expect me to join you.” 

Her smile was triumphant, but minimal. “Oh I don’t. So long as you don’t expect me to let you murder your way through the British Isles uninhibited.” 

His smile mirrored hers, and despite knowing there was nothing (he was currently aware of) that she could use to stand in his way, his eyes held a darker edge of challenge and his voice was a ragged, conspiratorial whisper. “On the contrary. I would be highly disappointed if you did.”

She quirked a brow. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you like it when things don’t go your way.”

The vampire shrugged, approaching her once more. “Call it an existential crisis. On the other hand…” He placed one longer finger under her chin and with light pressure, urged it up so that she was meeting his eyes more directly. “All my best brides are the defiant ones.”

A mocking scoff erupted from her throat, and after a short, internal scuffle it was, at least in part, Agatha’s words that countered him. “I am not your bride, Count. In fact none of them ever were – you don’t keep ‘brides’ in boxes and feed them garden pests. Those were lab rats. A bride is someone you actually have to ‘live’ with – if you’ll excuse the colloquialism.” She gently jerked her jaw out of his grasp.

“Good thing we have forever, then.” He gave her another brief crooked smile and began to walk past her entirely towards the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m starving. I trust you can find your way out – unless you’d like to join me?”

“I’ll pass,” Zoe insisted, blinking out of the strange daze of his presence and Agatha’s intrusion with an annoyed set to her shoulders, looking after him with a look of warning. “I’ll be seeing you.”

He paused, glancing back one last time from the hall. 

“Looking forward to it.” 


	5. Defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtesy mention of a teensy hint of dub con and a lot more innuendo.

It was another two weeks before Zoe saw sunlight again. Not out of any kind of vampiric repulsion, but purely due to the epic workload she had set up for herself. She knew as much as she hated to admit it that Dracula was right. She had a limited amount of time to make good on her intentions and an expanse of scientific ground to break, more than she had ever envisioned for herself. 

Worse, there was a level of occult knowledge that she needed to reacquaint herself with since she’d tossed it in the bin twenty years prior, but Agatha was at least useful in that respect. Granted 1897 was not the most ideal cut off, but it gave her a decent groundwork. What wasn’t useful was the obvious glee that overcame her in the presence of the monster Zoe had been taught from an early age was basically the devil incarnate. And it’s not as though the nun even disagreed with the assessment, save her belief in the literal devil causing a bit of a contextual conflict. 

Zoe had always took pride in her stoicism, but Agatha was quite the opposite. She’d always found some sort of wicked, curious amusement in everything, even in the face of death – and vampires, apparently. Not that she didn’t have a very personal reason to be interested now. No, ignoring Dracula was no longer an option. Understanding him was the only way to fully understand herself, and whoever else the Count was no doubt soon to add to the ranks of the undead. 

As much as she detested to admit it, she could feel herself changing – slowly, but surely evolving past the limits of what it had always meant to be human. Everything was different – the way things smelled, looked, tasted, felt… there wasn’t a sense unaffected. And with it had grown subtle, gnawing hunger that she was determined to repress – or, currently, find a safe way to sate. And she was close. _So_ _close_. But without a few more key bits of information from the beast himself, there was no way to be sure.

She had let him be for now, since she knew they at least had time in that regard. Dracula was many things, but a total idiot was not one of them, and no doubt he’d taken notice of the pattern just as easily as she did. The longer he spent with each victim, the more ideal the transformation after death. Instant kills were a 50/50 shot at best. If he was on the lookout for another ‘bride’ – even if he’d found one, there was no way he’d waste his newly renewed hope by getting overzealous. Zoe alone seemed to be the outlier of that unspoken rule, but ingesting so much of his blood (and also being on death’s doorstep already) seemed to have been the push.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know where he was. In fact, she found that if she let herself focus on him too long she couldn’t seem to avoid getting a sort of passing ‘update’ of his current actions – whether she wanted it or not. Just the person she wanted to be mentally connected to. Though whatever the connection was, it seemed to be a two-way street as opposed to the sort of controlling thrall that he had over certain others. At least she hadn’t caught herself doodling ‘Dracula is God’ in the corner of any of her notepads, thank fuck for that.

After a couple of weeks, however, the peaks at his consciousness were becoming more involuntary – either that, or he’d found out a way to push them at her deliberately, which wouldn’t surprise her in the least. An array of miscellaneous throats, mostly – with the occasional face to go with them even, but a strangely short order of corpses. Not too surprising given his renewed intent to procreate, but she expected the body count would be still reasonably…abundant. 

Despite knowing she should be relieved, Zoe felt a creeping sense of dread. How many people did he intend to turn? To keep up with his usual appetite he’d have to be keeping a menagerie of donors. _Willing_ donors. For a brief, mindless moment she wondered to herself how the hell he was managing that. Her own voice _(more or less)_ answered in a clipped mocking laugh, echoing out loud in the silence of her office. 

Tall, dark, handsome, well dressed, charming – in a snakey sort of way with no particular sexual preference, in a city full of jaded, power starved people longing to escape from their problems, with a cynical attitude toward life _and_ death? Christ’s sake, they were in the age of the opioid epidemic and the man was walking heroin. _Literally._ ****The world was doomed.

Ready or not, it was about time she stopped making things so easy for him, Zoe decided, packing up her latest round of experiments and locking them away. Just because she couldn’t kill Dracula (yet) didn’t mean that she couldn’t distract him - a thought that she was well aware originated more with Agatha than herself, but the scientist in her was still fully willing to embrace. 

The methodology was…negotiable, they’d settled on vaguely as Zoe found her way quickly home to her flat. 

Once she decided to figure out his location, it didn’t surprise her that the count was ‘on the prowl’, but she did have to roll her eyes at his choice of venue. Apparently he was going to make following him inconvenient. It definitely wasn’t a club she could just waltz into dressed like a science professor and blend in. 

_But this is good, he won’t be expecting your intrusion._

…Or he’s expecting me to show up in a lab coat and give myself away Zoe countered internally, becoming arguably far too comfortable with disagreeing with her own inner voice as she yanked out a little black dress from the back of her wardrobe and tossed it on her bed, along with her far more lived in leather jacket.

Fine. This was _fine_. If she could keep randy 20-year-olds focused on studying science instead of each other on a regular basis, she could certainly handle putting a wrench in a 500 year old man-child’s seduction techniques. 

——

Of the numerous intrigues and conundrums the 21st century had wrought upon the Count, the notion of the vampire being not only a cultural topic of admiration but practically a fetish was one he had never seen coming. He was actually embarrassed it had taken him this long to fully comprehend and, in turn, _utilize_ this phenomenon. It was true none of his earlier victims had really been surprised when his teeth sank into their necks, but the full scope of it had never really ‘dawned’ on him until baring his fangs had inspired one too many bouts of earnest excitement. It was frankly hilarious, not to mention convenient, though truth be told he was beginning to miss the charms of inspiring unholy terror. 

Not that the initial euphoria didn’t quickly evolve into proper panic once the reality of exsanguination occurred to them – if he allowed it to. He sometimes did, particularly since he was losing patience with being told it wasn’t Halloween just before ripping into their throats. He opted not to keep those idiots around, more often than not. The undead didn’t need any more denial in its ranks - Zoe was already proving to be so far immune to his influence in every way, he did not need any more deviance. 

It luckily hadn’t taken Dracula long to finally hit the smorgasbord: an entire dark room, filled almost entirely with dozens of willing, _believing_ victims. So many nocturnal souls, full of wickedness and naïve delight at the mere thought of a creature such as him walking amongst them. Many of them even liked to already call themselves vampires, some in jest and others in actual earnest - artificial fangs and all! It was downright _adorable_. Now why should he, of all people, ruin their fun? 

It never took very long to capture someone’s attention, and that particular night was no different save for the fact that his potential prey had suddenly turned their attention away from him and was having some unknown words whispered in their ear by a woman he vaguely recognized as the bartender. 

“I…um, I need to go. Emergency,” The young woman stated in the broken persistence easily identified as that of an unpracticed liar, and she dissolved hurriedly back into the darkness from whence she came. 

Dracula’s head tilted briefly in confusion, but then in realization he sighed as his eyes scanned and locked in a glare on the slender figure at the far end of the bar who was _smirking_ at him. 

Striding over with exaggerated reluctance, he leant against the surface at her side.

“What did you tell her?” 

Zoe shrugged, still clearly pleased with herself. “Just enough to make you sound revolting. Not exactly hard to do.”

“No one likes a _cock block_ , Dr. Helsing,” he accused with a raise of his brows, looking down at her.

Zoe chuckled aloud. “I think we both know your cock isn’t something to worry about,” she replied, eyes rolling at his apparent need to show off his modern vocabulary. 

“ _Ouch_ ,” he rumbled, amusement still glinting in the black pools of his eyes despite his attempt at a pout. “Should I be offended?” 

“Is there even anything to be offended about?” She found herself asking, and briefly cursed Agatha’s ever-greedy curiosity.

The Count’s brows shot upwards, in either genuine surprise or a good ploy of it as he turned his body to face hers. “Are you asking if I’m, as you say, ‘fully functional and anatomically correct’? _Oh dear_ , now I am offended.” It didn’t falter his smile.

“I just assumed you saw everyone as little more than happy meals with legs,” she said in, granted, unnecessary explanation for the question. Never in anything she’d seen or heard of his attempts to seduce or charm did he seem to be in pursuit of anything but dinner.

“I’m a man of many appetites, some just supersede others,” he replied simply, at first, though quickly amended. “And certain aspects of being a vampire does make it difficult to find a partner who will remain conscious or even _survive_ the experience through to its conclusion.”

“Sounds like a self-control problem to me, though…I wouldn’t have thought the killing part to be an issue for you,” she uttered in return, more of Agatha’s intrigue popping out without her consent. 

His eyes narrowed knowingly, as they always seemed to do when he sensed Zoe’s words were not always her own, though it didn’t stop him from responding.

“I may be undead, but I am no necrophile. I told you I like the lively ones, and I meant that. Even if the vast majority _are_ ‘happy meals with legs’ that’s no reason to ignore what’s between them. Where do you think all that blood flows to when you’re aroused?”

“Sorry I asked,” Zoe clipped, eyes rolling again in sheer avoidance of his probing gaze.

“Maybe I ought to try some restraints,” he mused thoughtfully, ignoring her comment entirely and refocusing on his current ‘conundrum’ she’d been so kind as to bring to the forefront of his thoughts. “I fed from an interesting little dominatrix the other night…”

“For them or for you?” Zoe found herself snarking back, beginning to wonder if it was a better or worse choice to let a nun have this conversation in her place.

“Oh, _them_. It would keep them conscious a bit at least. When your saliva is a sedative, over-eagerness just breeds trouble. I don’t even know if they make anything strong enough to restrain me. Silver…if you believe the stories, though I’ve never tried it.” His brow quirked upward lasciviously at her, an obvious lure. “Perhaps you would do the honors?” 

“ _Perhaps_ I should try to stake you, just to be sure. You never know, I could get lucky.”

“Now, now. We both know you’re not going to do that. Come on _Agatha_ – don’t think I don’t know when it’s you, you always were a curious cat - if things went your way I’d still be locked in a box to prod at for the rest of eternity, all for the sake of extending your morbid curiosity. I was extending a courtesy with that offer. It could be the closest you’d get to satisfaction in that regard. Or any regard,“ he drawled, punctuating his already not-so-subtle meaning by moving in closer still, deliberately intrusive. He lived to infuriate. 

Agatha’s first instinct was to aim a slap at his absurdly smug face just for the audacity, regardless of Zoe’s opposing instinct to ignore him entirely. Apparently the nun won out, though the speed in which her hands zoomed forward was an impossible thing, and as Zoe feared, a grave mistake. The older vampire caught her hand in his massive fist before it came within an inch of his flesh, with a look of pure satisfaction. In the same gesture, his other hand shot to grasp her throat and by the force of the movement alone urged her back from the bar and into the shadows just beyond it. The music was melancholic, but loud and just chaotic enough to drown out the faint growl erupting from his throat. 

“Ooh. Look at you go. I think my blood really did do the trick, didn’t it? None of my brides, before or after their full transformation, could even come close to my speed. And you’re already halfway there. Not to mention completely immune to my power of suggestion yet still able to locate me, it seems – very, very irritating, but impressive. Any fangs yet?” 

Struggling briefly in his grasp, she bared her teeth at him spitefully, showing off her teeth’s lack of points. 

“Aw. What a pity,” he sighed, letting go of her hand, but kept her neck in his grip – not squeezing, but present and unmoving, nonetheless lest she try to attack him again.

“Still trying to fight it, aren’t you? Zoe’s just a stubborn thing, she wants to prove me wrong. But you…you are trying to protect her. From me…herself, I don’t know, but it’s only going to end up driving her mad.” 

“It’s completely feasible to resist the blood lust,” Agatha persisted, meeting his steely gaze with her own. “She’s figured out how it works, what the vampiric body needs to function.” 

“And I suppose you’d be the expert at resisting lusts, wouldn’t you?” His fingers tightened minutely around the long column of her throat, and his words were a harsh whisper that’s effect on her body mocked the very virtue it was pretending to praise. 

“For once, Dracula, stop flattering yourself,” she spat, turning her head as much to look away from him – at anything but him - as his hold would allow.

“I never flatter myself. You stop elevating yourself. You’re not a nun anymore, you’re just another wayward soul. You’ve died twice trying to rid the world of me and we’re both still here. _Take a hint._ ” 

“Perhaps I’m still here to stop you,” she suggested, finally turning back to face him with a challenging lift of her brow.

The Count met her challenge with a look of utter acceptance , his face leaning down to hers in what to anyone else would be a clear threat - and to anyone else, it was exactly that. To a normal, non corrupt human his kiss meant instant submission, the predator incapacitating his prey. 

“Then, by all means, _stop me._ ” 

She stood stiff in the face of his intimate approach, for a moment able to ignore any further context and simply prod at him. 

"Your delusions won’t work on me anymore,” Agatha reminded him blandly, pushing breath out with each word just because she could. 

This gave him pause for all of a moment, but it was seemingly only to observe her stubborn face with faint amusement. 

“Good,” he uttered against her lips with mocking simplicity, but before she could take another breath he was kissing her hard and to his utter relief, didn’t get limp, clouded acceptance in response. 

She let out a frustrated growl of her own in protest, more human than beast, though her attempt at clamping her lips closed in protest came a moment too late. He’d captured her lower lip between his own and she felt the sharp scrape of his canines as he pulled, still prominent without the animalistic haze of hunger. 

Her initial will to resist buckled to make way instead for an aggressive refusal to be dominated - whether those forces had names or were shared equally between the Van Helsing women, he couldn’t say, but instead of allowing him to ravage her mouth unopposed, or even to attempt to fight or flee as the Count half expected, she’d responded with equal fervor - out of lust or spite or both. Her blunt teeth bit down hard where his had only nipped and her previously limp hand found its way to the back of his head and anchored itself in his locks to counter the tightening of his grip on her neck. 

The snarl that reverberated from his throat and into her mouth was every bit as bestial as hers was human, and his grip tightened dangerously just before forcing her backwards and away from him like he was embracing an open flame. She barely caught herself before crashing into a wall, but still looked on with unadulterated satisfaction as Dracula looked twice as shaken as she did in the face of his first kiss in 500 years that didn’t end in immediate surrender. Men - alive or dead - were all the same. 

After a moment, he caught himself, letting out a wicked chuckle in the face of her smirk. “We’ll make a monster of you yet, Van Helsing,” he assured her raggedly, bluster gradually returning to his stance and the set of his jaw as he watched her.

Zoe - and fully Zoe at that moment righted herself from where she leaned against the wall, adjusting her jacket, the satisfied look still in her eyes. 

“Happy hunting, Count Dracula. Just don’t expect me to make it easy for you.”

And without looking at him again, she walked passed where he stood and headed in a leisurely stroll towards the exit, forcing her heart rate back to its normal deathly calm. 


	6. Fly On the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dracula finds a potential new bride, and a new fun way to take advantage of his mental connection to Zoe. The rating has officially gone up to M for sexy times. Anything shown to Zoe is done so with his very deliberate intention, and while there is an OC introduced, the main pairing of this fic has not changed.

Appetite decidedly ruined, at least for the time being, Dracula had taken to the streets of London and began to walk them with the single-minded effort to put distance between him and any events that had previously transpired. He was not used to allowing anyone else the last word – Lucy had once pointed out that he often killed anyone before they could give it, but even so. Not being the clear cut dominant party in any scenario left him disgruntled and however novel the experience, confused - a most unnatural state. And not the only one plaguing him either. 

_ Trudging _ might have been a better placed verb for the stalking, almost antsy pace he kept, potentially for hours. He didn’t keep time. It wasn’t as though it would tire him out, and the dawn was no longer a threat. In fact, he quite liked to watch the sun reach her penultimate peak. It was still hours out from the gradual brightening of the horizon when, as he paced through an otherwise deserted back alley to avoid a torrent of rowdy youths exiting a rather degraded club that the unmistakable dirge of human voices raised in aggravation briefly drew his attention from his own brooding. 

Half turning in potential amusement, hoping perhaps some insipid humans were engaging in some kind of drunken brawl, it didn’t take long for the Count to size up what was actually occurring. Two young men, one short and stocky as his compatriot was lanky, were drunkenly blocking the way of a petite young woman, scantily clad but carrying an armful of books, as she tried to pass them up the alley and presumably to the main road. 

“Gonna dance for us again, love?”

“Club’s closed boys, go home,” she persisted, clearly uncomfortable despite keeping a casual tone as she tried to dodge around them again, to no avail. 

“We could give you a riiide home…car’s parked right up the road,” the taller and obviously dumber one of the two leered in the most obvious failure at looking genuine the count had ever seen. It was frankly embarrassing. 

“I called a cab. Now  _ move _ ,” the small black haired creature demanded, doing her best to raise her voice and attempt to shove past, but the men only laughed, and the stockier one grabbed her by the waist and began trying to lead her off, despite her cursing refusal.

She tried to hit him with one of the heftier tomes in her clutches and ended up dropping the others, leading the idiots to laugh even louder and continue to try to maneuver her. Just as she let out a screech of what to Dracula’s amusement sounded more like valkyrie-esque fury rather than panic, the vampire decided to step out of the shadows and interrupt the frankly pathetic attempt at hostage taking.

“Boys, I really don’t think this is an effective method to pick up a lady.”

Even at its least threatening, Dracula’s voice stopped them in their tracks, the taller lad almost stumbling into the wall in surprise, as the other, hand still gripping the girl’s waist, turned to face the voice with clearly forced bluster.

“Who asked you?”

Dracula quirked a brow, a crooked smile cracking his otherwise stern facade in the face of that response, and he began approaching at a steady pace.

“Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

The young men exchanged worried looks as the man came out of the shadows and, in fact, towered over the both of them to an unsettling degree. Not even bothering to protest as the girl took advantage of their distraction and lurched out of their clutches and hurried back towards the door of the club she’d left, they seemed to both come to the same stupid conclusion at the same time, and took on a defensive 'fighting' stance that almost made the Count giggle. 

“Sounds like you need to mind your own business, gramps,” the dumb one spoke this time, clearly trying to show off, though to who he had no idea. His friend may have spoken first, but was currently too frozen in terror under the piercing and unnaturally glowing gaze of the vampire to hear a word he’d said. Dracula, however, heard him perfectly and snarled, flashing just a glimpse of sharp teeth which sent them both into a headlong sprint in the opposite direction. 

The Count laughed outright at their fleeing backs, shaking his head.  _ Idiots _ . He almost regretted chasing them off, truth be told, the amusement of terrifying them reminding him that he had forgone his dinner that evening – though he was positive they would’ve tasted terrible. 

“Wow,” a small voice said from behind him, and he turned quickly to see the young woman peek her head back into the alley, too curious to stay as far away as she rightly should have. Instead of looking frightened, she approached the giant of a man and smiled, craning her neck to look out to the now empty road, fascinated. He appraised her properly now and took note that although she was certainly young and very pretty, she was not as juvenile as he’d originally assumed. There were faint lines and dark circles under her doe brown eyes and despite her outward show of anger prior, there were smudges where the black lining her eyes had smeared, pin pricked with the beginnings of tears too stubborn to fall. 

“No idea what you just did, but… fucking  _ thank you _ . Those pricks have been hounding me for weeks.” 

“It was my pleasure. Fools of such  _ poor taste _ like that need to be put in their place, at times. ” he assured her smoothly, looking down at her with a stare she could only describe as  _ penetrating _ and it took her a moment to remember how to breathe. Finally blinking and clearing her throat, she caught sight of her high dollar text books still splayed on the ground where they’d fallen, one of them half in a puddle of some unknown substance.

“ _ Shit _ ,” she hissed, and hurried over and crouched down to the retrieve them. In one smooth motion, he too bent to assist her.

“Go back to school, they said…it’ll be  _ fun _ they said,” she murmured in a weak attempt at both humor and what he assumed to be an explanation for her rather spontaneous studying location as she gathered some loose pages of notes that had been stuffed inside one of the titles. The cover of one the books caught his eye and he couldn’t suppress a crooked grin of recognition.

“ _ Medieval Warlords of Eastern Europe. _ Quite a fun read.”

“You’ve read it?” she found herself asking in a skeptical tone, as she stood and bashfully adjusted the short hemline of her skirt over her fishnet covered thighs. 

“No, but you could call me a bit of an expert on the subject,” he offered as he handed it back to her, keeping the rest of the books in his free hand as though they were weightless, a knowing glint in his dark eyes that made her brow quirk in curiosity.

“Is that a line or are you serious?” 

He shrugged innocently, something that looked almost comical with his broad shoulders, though the smile that followed was more genuine, and spiked her pulse as it spread across his handsome face.

“That depends. Is it working?”

She found herself smiling in return. “What are you? …A history professor or something?” Clearly that idea did not exactly deter her interest, ‘student’ though she was.

“I…have some experiences with that,” he replied in a strangely vague way, though didn’t give her much time to dwell on it as he held out a frankly massive hand to her in introduction. “I’m Dracula.”

“Katherine – though everyone calls me Kat,” she offered, watching her hand be engulfed in his grip, though instead of shaking it he gripped her fingers gently and brought her knuckles to his lips.

He narrowed his eyes almost conspiratorially at her, having kept hold of her hand, not that she would protest. “You didn’t actually call a cab, did you Kat?” 

Kat chewed on her bottom lip and shook her head. “No…I was planning to walk. It’s not that far, really. Just didn’t want them to know where I live.”

“Then allow me to escort you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she began, a default ‘polite’ reply that the hopeful gleam in her eyes clearly contradicted, the invitation so close to the brim of her mind that it practically spilled forward even in silence.

“I insist,” he bent to her ear somewhat to murmur lowly, which seemed a large expanse despite the height of her heels, and she could only nod in wide-eyed acceptance as she took his offered arm. 

\----

Zoe hadn’t dreamt since waking up on that table weeks before. Each of her bouts of sleep were fleeting but deep and utterly untainted by consciousness, until that night she came home from the club. She had crashed onto her mattress, kicked off her boots and practically forced herself into a fitful sleep immediately, the way she often would before, when she was so ill her entire body was riling against her. It wasn’t really a dream, though, but a memory - Agatha’s memory. Zoe had a distant knowledge of everything she had experienced since she’d drank Dracula blood, but only rarely did she see actual events in such a clear and precise manner. 

She distantly wondered if it was being shown to her out of spite, since she had been irrationally infuriated by Agatha's existence in her mind the entire cab ride back from the club. Clearly that was all Agatha’s fault, whatever the hell it was. Distracting him, fine. Setting him up to fail, sure. Great. Snogging him,  _ no _ . That was not part of the plan, no matter how ‘negotiable’ their plans had been to start with. It was far easier to be mad at yourself when there was an entirely separate entity you could blame your stupid actions on, at least. 

In the depths of her mind, Zoe could smell the salty, stagnant air in the hold of the Demeter, feel the subtle rock of it on the water, as she watched the proud and sickly form of her great, great Aunt simply decide to commit suicide for the sake of everyone else’s safety as though she were deciding whether or not to wear a hat that day. Her chestnut curls were matted on the ends with blood, but her smile was as casual as anything as she bid the Captain to let her blast a hole in the side of his ship, while he and the rest of the crew took out a lifeboat. 

He pleaded with her, but she insisted. Insisted that the curse of the vampire could never reach England, told him to lie about where the ship went down (no wonder they had trouble finding the bloody thing), and then came a part of the memory that it seemed even she had tried to repress. Perhaps, in case Dracula lived, in case he tasted her blood again, he wouldn’t know.

Agatha pulled a neatly tied but clearly bulging collection of papers from the inside of her habit with shaking, raw fingertips and pressed it into the Captain’s hands. 

“I want you to make sure this gets into the hands of Dr. Abraham Van Helsing.”

“Van Helsing? Family?” The Captain asked distractedly, still slightly shaken from learning her plans. He had grown an attachment to her, Zoe could see it plainly, even if Agatha had dismissed it entirely.

“Yes, my older brother. He’s…a trifle eccentric, but knowledgeable in all the right areas, in the event that Dracula ever does reach England, someone needs to know what I know. It’s my entire account…from the convent up until this morning, all of my research. Read it, if you like, but just make sure it gets into the right hands. He has acquaintances in London. A doctor, I know, by the name of…Seward I believe. He’s mentioned him in his letters…”

The rest of the memory blurred and sped by after that, giving her glimpses of what she knew to be the last moments of Agatha’s life. Zoe had always been told that she’d died at Dracula’s hands, but no. It was just as he’d said earlier. She’d died trying to kill him, twice now. And she’d died smiling at almost accomplishing it. The last look he’d given her was somewhere between respect, contempt, fury, and a disturbing but brief expanse of silence which Zoe distantly placed as longing. Even Agatha only seemed to realize in retrospect that the last thing the Count did before throwing her on the deck to save himself was try to memorize her face.

When Zoe awoke, it was with an immediate and clear knowledge that, regardless of any other information she’d gleaned, she  _ needed _ to see if that letter existed. Her family would’ve kept it, she knew, though whether somewhere at the institute or in their family home, she wasn’t sure. She would have to find out. Clearly, information did not travel untainted through generations.

The lower levels of the Jonathan Harker institute were fully modernized, as sterile and clinical as you could get, but there were still parts of the old ruin of a building that stood before that kept the old occultist spirit of her family, something she herself had tried desperately to wipe out. It didn’t exactly look good for a scientist to have a family name that was synonymous with the study of life after death and mystical phenomena. Over time the Van Helsings had begun to quantify the study - of vampires especially - into as much of a science as they could, to the point that it didn’t feel particularly supernatural anymore – though deep down Zoe knew that wasn’t exactly true. Now, more than ever.

Whether all of her associates would agree was a concept she would need to consider at a later date. Dodging as many members of the staff as humanly possible, she made her way to the stairwell. The elevator only went so far. 

It took her a proper two hours at least, battling her way through dust laden relics and paperwork from '60s utility bill' old straight back to 'turn of the century insurance voucher' antique until Zoe found it: a large wooden chest with her grandfather's initials barely visible in peeling letters. Inside was an assortment of oddities, some more interesting than others, but in a fading manila envelope (obviously not its original home) she felt the warning crinkle of 19th century parchment. A precursory glance through the first few pages left her with three critical bits of information:

  1. These were exactly what she'd been looking for, and more even.
  2. A good three quarters of the contents were in Dutch.
  3. Somehow that didn't stop Zoe from comprehending it



She'd headed straight home after that, as though the hounds of hell were at her heels. It was not, however, because she thought Dracula's warnings about her colleagues were worth any weight - or so she firmly reminded herself. She was only excited. So excited apparently that she fell into an unexpectedly deep sleep atop her fully made bed in a chaotic swirl of typewritten copies no more than four hours later, despite not being tired at all. 

\------

_ Bzzz! _

Kat's eyes shot up from where they'd been blearily zoned out on her barely written essay towards the front door of her flat. She hadn't been expecting anyone, and given it was almost 11 pm - not exactly the witching hour but certainly late enough to be weary, she was cautious as she approached the door.

"Who is it?" She asked, cursing the lack of peephole in these bloody doors. 

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," a smooth, lightly accented voice easily permeated the door, and Kat's eyes widened in excitement followed by a brief moment of panic.  _ Shit shit shit.  _ She bit her lip as she rushed for the nearest reflective surface to ensure she looked at least semi-appealing. A stretch, but…fine, she settled, pulling her hair down from her sloppily done ponytale at least, just before returning to pull open the door. 

For a moment she forgot how far up she needed to look to meet Dracula's gaze, finding herself without the aid of her platforms barely eye level with his sternum and had to quickly redirect her focus pseudo-casually away from his chest hair to find his dark eyes. This apparently amused him judging by the small smirk at the corner of his mouth. 

"...Hi there." 

"Good evening… I apologize for the late hour. I hope you weren't turning in. I'm a bit...nocturnal."

"Oh, no," she persisted with carefully controlled enthusiasm, glancing back at her sofa where her laptop still sat. "Me too, honestly. Just doing class work. It's my night off."

"How convenient," Dracula said, seemingly pleased. "I brought something for you. I thought you might find it useful in your studies."

It was only then that Kat took note of the large, leather bound book in his left hand as he offered it to her. Finding she had to grab it with both hands, she was surprised to feel the richness of real leather pliant but sturdy in her hands. Her fingers traced the slightly raised letters on the binding. It appeared to be proper gold leaf, and the pages had a patina of wear to them despite its otherwise unblemished appearance. She carefully opened it, looking through the first pages carefully.

"How old is this?" She breathed, for a moment too intrigued to look up, which considering what was standing in front of her was saying a lot. 

"Late 18th century, but it's an English translation of a much older volume. I used to own a copy in Romania, but I've had to...restock my library. It's not a very good translation, to be honest, but it does contain a great many things the modern world seems to like to forget…for better or worse," he stated with a strange, knowing lilt that finally drew her attention back to him. 

"Is that where you're from? I wouldn't have placed that from your accent," she asked, cautiously stepping back from the door in silent invitation for him to enter. 

He hesitated, mouth opening as though to protest, but just as quickly closed it and stepped over the threshold in one large stride, looking satisfied as she moved to shut the door behind him. 

"I haven't been home in many years," he responded truthfully as he turned to meet her, watching her appraise his approach with the all but expected antsiness born of equal amounts unease and desire. Fight or flight or another F-word the body knew well but the mind didn't quite know how to factor into the equation.

Kat held the book against her chest, her mind's subconscious attempt at shielding against a known threat, even while her feet carried her a step towards him. 

"Thank you - very much. I'll guard it with my life," she 'swore' dramatically, attempting to lighten the suddenly thick atmosphere. 

"Oh, nonsense. Consider it a gift," Dracula assured her. 

"Oh, I couldn't-"

Kat found herself silenced by one long, cool finger pressed against her lips, and her breath staggered. 

"You Brits are always so polite," he remarked with an exaggerated sigh, bringing his thumb together with his forefinger and cupping her chin lightly, craning her neck to meet his eyes. She distantly registered the uncharacteristic sharpness of his nails, though her first thoughts were full of anything but fear. 

"I saw your eyes light up when you saw it.  _ You know you want it. _ Don't you?"

Dracula's voice turned to a whisper and she nearly forgot how to speak. And when exactly had he gotten that close? She swallowed, eyes wavering from his eyes to his lips.

"Yes. Yes, I do…"

He arched a brow. "Then take it."

Kat didn't need to be told twice. The white-knuckled grip she had on the book relaxed slightly, and without looking away from his hypnotic gaze she extended her arm and placed it on the shelf beside them, successfully removing the weak barrier it had created between them. Then without another thought she'd launched onto the tips of her toes and crashed her lips against Dracula's self-satisfied smirk. 

She'd barely adjusted to the bruising pressure he'd returned when it had been ripped away again to her initial gasp of protest, but his hand gripped the full length of her hair and yanking, bared her throat for him to attack instead. Her head spun, feeling almost delirious for half a moment as his tongue drug an icy-hot path up the hollow of her throat, something akin to a growl reverberating through her ear and directly to her core. His teeth drug downward in the same path his tongue had taken, and just like that her feet had left the floor and he had a stranglehold on her hips, the bookcase digging into her back.

\------

Zoe knew it wasn't a dream from the heat alone. It began at her center and flung outward through her limbs like an internal wildfire, until even the tips of her fingers thrummed with it. 

The vision was blurry at first, like from the eyes of a fly on the wall (knowing the vampire, a very real possibility) except she could  _ feel _ it. Feel the iron grip of his hand pinning her wrists, the ache at the base of her spine as her back arched into the force of his thrusts, measured and unrelenting. There was no delay for human error, no stagger or pacing for control - just pure hunger made flesh. The ripped remains of her camisole clung uselessly to her breasts, and he let loose her wrists if only to obliterate it further so he could set upon them with blunt teeth and tongue.

Her black lacquered nails dug jagged lines into his back that vanished as soon as they appeared as she came apart beneath him, just one of many occasions that blurred in her lust addled mind. Ever the consummate showman, an arm snaked beneath her, arching her petite form further upward to meet his chest as he rocked forward, the headboard hitting the wall hard enough to scrape paint. But the show was reaching its expiration, Zoe could hear it, echoing through the chambers of his mind. 

The thundering of her heart, the singing of her blood like a siren's call. It was becoming harder to ignore, to drown out, and the beast was struggling to stay hidden, a crimson haze seeping into his eyes. His head buried into the curve of his lover's neck and he let out a low wolf-like keening muffled into the midnight of her hair that all too soon erupted into a growl. His hand gripped her throat, and just as she clenched her thighs around his hips like a vice to draw him in, his teeth sunk deep into her flesh. 

Suddenly Zoe could no longer feel the bursting pleasure/pain of her ecstasy, but  _ taste it. _ She could feel the heat of the blood as it coated his mouth, thick and sweet with surrender… 

She finally jolted awake with a force, half launching herself off the bed like she'd been restrained by it. It was still dark, her entire body throbbed, and worst of all she could still taste the coppery tang of the girl's blood, tangible and tingling on her tongue. And she wanted more. 


	7. Experiments

“I don’t think she’s coming, sire.”

Dracula looked up from where he’d been absently staring off into the abyss - granted the abyss did look an awful lot like his front door, to meet the infuriatingly attentive gaze of Frank Renfield, as he stirred his tea, and pretended to peruse the morning paper.

“I’m sorry?” It was less of a question of clarification, and more a second chance to remedy his daring presumption, though apparently this did not occur to the lawyer at all.

“Dr. Helsing. I think she’s far more stubborn than even you give her credit for.”

“What exactly gives you the idea that I’m waiting for anyone, much less _her_ ?” he challenged, quirking a brow at his rather unwelcome company. He had asked for daily updates on his current investments, true, but it wasn’t necessarily his intention to have the man pop up at random hours of the morning to do so. Just because he _could_ be a morning person now certainly didn’t mean that he actually wanted to be. 

“I’ve never seen you so disinterested in _sustenance_ when it’s right in front of you, unless she’s involved, of course.”

The vampire was very tempted to rip the knowing smile right from his skull, but barely managed to restrain himself out of sheer disinterest at working to find another malleable Londoner to do his business. Picking up his sadly cooled breakfast, he drained the glass simply out of spite and sat it back down with a force just shy from shattering it. 

“I don’t pay you to psychoanalyze me, Frank,” he warned, barely concealed with a charming edge of fondness that came off even more menacing than any blatant threat, as he stood to his full height and paced over to the window. 

The lawyer paled. “Yes, master.”

“What’s my schedule for this evening?”

“I believe you indicated you were _finishing off_ your first experiment tonight, Count. The painter.”

“Ah. Yes,” he confirmed, even as he proceeded to juggle his mobile phone between his hands distractedly, mind somewhere else entirely. “I might...hold off on that for another week. Can’t be too hasty...I really don’t want anymore failures on my hands. And perhaps we should really begin to encourage the writing of wills in this process… When is that ‘natural burial’ movement going to be ‘en vogue’ over here, you think?”

“In a city this size? Hard to say…” Frank winced, seeming to fall silent far longer than necessary to think about it, and Dracula was really beginning to regret meddling with his mental faculties so much. It did, however, shut him up long enough for him to send a text to the woman he'd just been accused of thinking about. 

**HAVE YOU RECONSIDERED JOINING ME FOR DINNER?**

After three minutes of silence, Dracula scowled and refocused on Renfield's babbling, which had taken back up after his initial, blissful silence. Something about 'death positivity' which brought a brief smirk to his lips. Just when he thought humanity had lost its sense of reality entirely.

**You text like my grandfather.**

The Count grinned in partial triumph. Partial because while she'd certainly replied, she didn't seem nearly as outraged as he'd dearly hoped. Would have to remedy that. Very soon.

**BUSY?**

**Very busy. How did you get my number?**

**HUNGRY? 🍷**

**No.**

**LIAR.**

**Show off.**

Renfield had the audacity to clear his throat.

\-----

Peaking into the disheveled mass of books, vials, and files that had become the current state of Zoe Van Helsing’s office, Bloxham at first mistook it for empty. The lights were dimmed, and the chair behind the desk was not only lacking in an occupant, but instead was serving as an unsteady shelf for what looked to be a hundred-year-old phonograph.

“The sign specifically said ‘do not disturb’, didn’t it?”

Dr. Bloxham spun around suddenly, placing a hand to her chest in shock as her eyes adjusted to the far corner of the room, where a small pseudo lab seemed to be occupying the back corner. Zoe was standing still as a statue, frozen in the midst of studying a vial of a thick red substance by shining a black light through it. She stayed frozen.

“Jesus, Zoe you scared the shit out of me,” she remarked at first. “And actually it says ‘danger: enter at your own risk’ but it was so bloody dark in here I thought you’d gone home.”

“All the same, get out. I’m busy,” Zoe murmured tightly, and her colleague frowned, making no motion to leave as of yet.

“Zoe...you haven’t been coming to meetings, nor have you really spoken to anyone in a week. Is everything...alright?” 

“Fine. Just dandy. Now get out, _please_.” 

“Sarcasm, much? I’m just...worried.”

Zoe still hadn’t moved. In fact, she was forcing herself to stay rooted to the spot, or she wasn’t entirely certain what she would do. A sudden shuffling outside the door, however, pulled her away from her steely focus and her eyes shot up with inhuman speed to the door where a crack of light cut through the carpet. 

“Who else is with you?” Zoe asked, eyes shooting towards the other woman directly for the first time since she’d entered.

Bloxham swallowed audibly, eyes darting quickly away to avoid eye contact. 

“Look, our sponsor has been sending inquiries about this...situation, and we need to provide him with answers. I thought if I could get a glimpse of your research, we could figure out what it is you’re doing and give a proper update…"

“Dr. Bloxham… _Kate_ I really need you to go. My research is _mine_ and until it’s complete, I have no interest in sharing it,” Zoe stated firmly.

Dr. Bloxham advanced forward a step. “But Zoe-”

Zoe’s grip on the vial in her hand tightened and the glass gave a warning crackle that froze the shorter woman in her place.

“ _Leave!”_ The words came out in nothing short of a growl, and had the exact opposite effect on the situation that she’d intended or hoped. 

The door swung the rest of the way open with a deafening _bang_ and two large men with guns came in behind Dr. Bloxham, only halting their approach at the raise of her hand.

“That won’t be necessary boys, thank you,” she stated with carefully practiced calm, even though Zoe could hear the thrumming of her pulse hitting an anxious high speed. She forced her fingers, which had flexed into something resembling claws, to relax, though her spine stiffened further. Would guns hurt her? Maybe, maybe not but it would certainly lead to a load of inconvenience even if they didn’t - more so if they didn’t, she decided.

Ignoring the intrusion completely, even as they seemed to stand down, Zoe addressed Bloxham directly. “Is this really where you’re going with this? I’m not an _animal_ , Dr. Bloxham. In fact, I’m doing everything in my power to avoid that outcome, and would like to continue to do it in peace.”

She slammed the glass beaker down and against better judgement beckoned her reluctant colleague forward.

“Come. Look.”

She hesitated, but gesturing a casual hand back at the men at her back, she approached Zoe, who distinctly moved out of the way entirely.

“What am I looking at?” 

“Just a basic five-senses test, Doctor, what do they tell you?”

Kate leant down at eye level with the beaker, perusing it, picking it up and shifting the substance around, taking a whiff of it. 

“It smells, looks, and behaves like blood. De-fibrillated, if I had to guess - from who or what I don’t know.”

Zoe looked minutely pleased, though was still almost robot stiff as she handed a folder over to her.

“It’s a protein and nutrient compound. I'm running a few...tests to see if I can find a supplemental vampiric food source. The information is all there."

Bloxham took the folder with a glance of astonished intrigue, and greedily began to look over the contents, forgetting about her intimidation tactics. Momentarily, at least. 

"Could this _actually_ work?"

"To keep them alive...yes, potentially. Or to ward off the cravings and reduce the need to result in homicide, at the least. As for the grander implications… I don't know."

"You need a subject."

"I am the subject."

The other doctor nodded briefly, biting her lip and pacing back towards the desk, folder still in her hands. 

"You think he's infecting others?'

"I know he is," Zoe scoffed, the distance between them making it somewhat easier to function. To breathe, however much she still could. 

"And have you run any trials yet?"

"With a couple more tweaks, I was planning to start this evening."

Bloxham gestured with her eyes toward the phonograph, and the exceedingly out of place stack of various religious texts and mythos. 

"These?"

"Doing some updates on my great grandfather's research. None of which is replaceable, ergo my want for privacy."

She nodded, understanding but not commenting. It was one of the things Zoe always appreciated about her - she never spoke without thinking first. 

"I would like you to run this as an official experiment in the lab, if only for the sake of an external eye. First hand trials are never 100% accurate - we both know that. You can't afford to miss something. If you feel...unsafe with the others, we can isolate you where you can still be observed - at your discretion, of course. And all of your private research will remain that way, you have my word."

Zoe pursed her lips into a thin line, weighing her options. Who was she kidding, she didn't have options. She had partial control or none at all; a glass box or an autopsy table. This was a negotiation of surrender. 

"All right. Fine."

\-----

_"....The second son of Vlad II became ruler of Wallachia in 1436, leading to one of the bloodiest but most successful reigns in Romanian history simply by fearful reputation alone. Drakula as he was often called, in his day simply in honor of his father meaning 'Son of the Dragon'. Now it just adds to his legend, since 'Dracul' in modern Romanian more accurately translates to Devil. A very literal interpretation of dying a hero or living long enough to see yourself becoming The Villain ™ …"_

Kat skimmed the notes for at least the fifth time, mindlessly chewing her nail polish off her thumb in a manic, nervous habit she thought she'd squashed at 16. She hadn't made it to class that morning - hell, she didn't even hear her alarm. It had blared for three hours before her mind swam its way back to consciousness. 

He'd been gone when she awoke finally, the mid-morning sun streaming harshly through her curtains. He left her a note, written in comically perfect cursive on the back of a concert flyer, with his mobile number scrawled across the top, laid on her bedside table atop the book he'd brought her.

_I had to run for a meeting early. Enjoy the book. - D_

_P.S. I did try to fix your shelf, though I do believe I owe you a new lamp._

Her cheeks were still burning hotter than her coffee as she later sat down to email her professor, claiming sudden illness and begging a forward of his notes. Luckily he was a pretty laid back type or it would have been twice as humiliating to think she was effectively calling in due to being fucked into oblivion. 

She'd barely recalled being conscious after, though she knew she had been. Though the memory of laughing off the wall-pounding complaints of her next door neighbor was swimming interchangeably with the images of her very bizarre dream. At least she'd assumed it was a dream - men sprouting fangs was clearly her orgasm-delirious brain reacting to last week's ill-timed Buffy marathon and too many re-readings of Legends of the Carpathians. It had to be.

That was her logic anyway, up until she looked at herself in the floor length mirror after jumping in the shower, and found herself marveling there far too long. She wasn't one to complain about a hickey or two, but her fingers trailed the jagged white indentation of teeth at the juncture of her neck and shoulder - a pale slash interrupting the bruised flesh - and shivered. Red, stripe-like lines trailed the length of her legs and hips, unfaded and tangible. There was even still a red gash-like mark on her shoulder where the strap of her camisole had dug into her flesh as he ripped it like it was made of crepe paper.

Her mind returned to those notes, lingering on the name 'Drakula' far too long without coming up with a real reason to be so concerned. It could be an ancestor or a weird inside joke of an alias she had missed. For all she knew of Romanian customs it could be a fairly common name there now. 

"Impaled by Vlad the Impaler...ridiculous," she joked, half audibly to herself 

"I quite like the sound of that."

A bonafide squeak of surprise rose out of her throat, though she didn't have the time to be humiliated as the tall shadow of the man himself showed up in the mirror behind her, taking up the whole of her bedroom door frame. 

"Apologies, it was unlocked. I did knock to be fair, but I can see why you didn't hear." His eyes were locked on her body still dripping from the shower, a towel barely clasped around to cover the important bits. 

Kat quickly caught her breath, forcing a chuckle. "No, it's...alright. I was just trying to...go over my notes," she excused, gesturing to where her laptop sat open on the desk in the corner. 

"Didn't make it out of bed this morning," She shot him a look of playful accusation, before turning back to the mirror, already dismissing her earlier fears now that she was seeing him in broad daylight for the first time. He was definitely _not_ a big pile of dust, or if he was he was the most attractive one she'd ever seen. 

He made a show of wincing. "I suppose that was my fault." He paced forward, meeting her eyes through their reflections as he approached, tracing a finger down the side of her neck and over her shoulder, skimming the harsh redness. "This definitely was."

Her breath stuttered audibly and she felt her lower muscles clench almost painfully just at the barest reminder of his presence. 

"Yeah...you… go a bit feral, don't you?" She breathed, fingers tracing her legs as well.

"You do make a lovely canvas." He smirked lightly, but other than meeting her reflection's gaze, he looked away from the mirror entirely, and brushed his lips over the bite mark as he turned away. 

_Well, he certainly has a reflection_ , she couldn't help but muse as she remembered to breathe, watching his backside as he paced over to the laptop casually.

"I see you're onto the 15th century."

"Yes… family of yours?" She prodded with mild curiosity, as she adjusted the towel.

He was silent for a moment , as though debating just how directly to answer. 

"Something like that," he seemed to settle with, and despite lifting a curious brow she didn't pry. Something in his eyes brooked no reproach, as funny as that felt to think.

"I unfortunately need to be going again," he added before she could think of any further inquiry, or pounce on him again as she was half wont to do. 

"I mainly just came to replace your lamp," he said, stepping back to the hall and pulling up a bag he had left on the floor, offering it to her. 

She couldn't help but laugh as she took it from him.. "Why _thank you_." 

Not that she could ever look at the bloody thing again without remembering knocking it onto the floor to smash into pieces as he pounded her into next week. Though judging from the demonic glint in his eyes as he pressed an otherwise chaste kiss to her knuckles in farewell, that was _exactly_ what he'd intended. 

\----

She felt him before she saw him. It was both refreshing and annoying that he couldn't sneak up on her anymore, even if it just meant a few more minutes of blissful ignorance before he intruded on her evening. 

"You shouldn't be here."

He was even more annoyed by it if the disgruntled sigh was anything to go by. He remained at a distance in the shadows nonetheless. 

"Neither should you, Zoe," Dracula warned in a tone that was so low, it was almost genuine in its concern. "I know what you're doing, at least in part, and while the effort is admirable _it's not going to work_."

"And how would you know?" She snapped, frustration lacing her words as she tried desperately to keep her eyes on the screen in front of her. "Have you ever even tried not killing anyone? Of course not, because you enjoy it too much. You're a monster and that's how you like it." She slammed a few keys with audible force.

Dracula scoffed, approaching from the shadows with an affronted air. "What do you call what I've been doing?! I would think you'd appreciate the gesture." 

Her eyes narrowed, incredulous confusion colored by exasperation. "I'm sorry, are saying you attempting not to murder half of London is supposed to _impress me_?"

"Yes, of course."

At that she couldn't help but laugh, for probably the first time in months, though it contained plenty of Agatha's sardonic mirth as well. 

"You really are a 500 year old infant, aren't you?"

His lips formed into an exaggerated pout, barely masking his amusement. "Is that what she's said about me?"

"Among many other things, yes," Zoe confirmed dryly, standing to her feet. They both knew he was speaking of Agatha, though whether he knew about the letters she wasn't sure, nor did she want to bring it up. Not yet.

"And what about the girl who's throat you almost ripped out last night? Or did you? Was that out of spite or just the chance to show off?"

"She's perfectly fine. Actually I would say I improved her night _immensely_." The lascivious tone was blatant and twice as irritating as he leaned over the desk towards her.

Her nostrils flared as the breath expelled through his words lingered between them, smelling of blood. 

"You're revolting." She despised that the words came out in a gasp.

"And deep down, you enjoy it."

"Like I enjoyed cancer."

He smirked, though there was a bitter edge of impatience to it.

"They're going to try to kill you, you know. And you don't have the strength to fight it."

"Then I suppose I'll die," she dismissed, just to irritate him. In truth it was something she was concerned with as well, but the last thing she wanted was for him to know it

He scowled briefly though it manifested as more of a snarl, pulling a hip flask from his pocket and placing it on the desk between them. An offering, given in silence. 

Zoe barely looked at it. "And which one of your conquests did that come from?"

"Leading hematologist in London - _willingly donated_ in a sterile, medical setting - very much alive and happily at home with his idiotic family as we speak. If and when you could use the boost - or the expertise."

"Not necessary," she ground out, doing her best to ignore its presence entirely. Not to mention the implication he was even offering assistance in his selfish, convoluted way, despite his opposition to her plan.

Dracula could have opened it and left her with no choice, but he didn't. Instead, he straightened to his full height and met her eyes again with a sigh as he made his way back towards the door. Where he’d actually gotten in without notice, she had no idea, and she’d rather not think about it.. 

"Good luck, Dr. Helsing," he bade her farewell, unable to resist adding sardonically: "You'll need it."

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Zoe's basically trying to invent True Blood, and this has accidentally taken a crossover turn, but oh well. It's fun.


	8. Control

_By all accounts he appears as a human man, at varying states of age depending upon how regularly and well he is fed, lingering even at his most satiated at around 45-50 years – presumably the age of his death. His hair is thick and inky black, kept shorter and slicked back when in public view; his nose aquiline and aristocratic; his eyes appear black at a distance but in close quarters and lighting seem to have a dark mossy-brown hue; admirable bone structure, and a mouth that is at times both harsh and jovial depending upon what impression he wishes to put across at the time. His accent is tainted by those of his victims, but always holds a slight thickness and gravel, reminiscent of his native tongue. His teeth, even when not in the state of blood frenzy, still seem longer and sharper than normal, particularly the canines. His fingernails also are long and honed to a point, and seem to be of inhuman durability and sharpness. He is excessively tall and somewhat broad, though of a generally slim build regardless of his bestial strength. No physical deformities upon the rest of his body when in his humanoid state, though his eyes can seem to gleam in the darkness like those of other nocturnal beasts._

_When in the presence of human blood, those eyes dilate and become ringed in crimson, and all blunt edges of his teeth sharpen to slight but lethal points. Animalistic tendencies manifest – hissing, snarling, growling, the hunched stance of a predator, etc. Interestingly, he also seems to bare all the normative signs of the common morphine addict – tension, restless movements, irritability, the inability to control his emotions and behavior. He possesses speed the likes of which the human eye can barely detect, but only in small bursts in the midst of attack, by my witness. He was able to manifest a continual fog, as stated earlier in my narrative, and could very well be at fault for the storm swirling in the seas now, as I write. He can deform himself to fit into any small space, one could assume, though I have only seen him do this by defiling the physical forms of other living beings – notably a wolf at the convent, and the late Jonathan Harker, who was also undead at the time. Whether that’s relevant to this ability, I don’t particularly know. He can call wolves and bats to his service, and possibly flies – whether this works with all creatures and he’s merely chosen these for theatrical purposes, or if he’s limited to creatures of darkness and decay, I have yet to discover._

_The ‘kiss of the vampire’ is a strong opiate, meaning most victims are often unaware of his bite or the danger they are in until it is too late. He can create and control the dream state in which they enter, often choosing scenarios of an erotic nature. Whether this is for his own amusement or because of the effect it has on the blood, I can only deduce. This method seems to be equally employed through both sexes though I have yet to see any direct indications of intercourse, willing or unwilling. If he possesses a sex drive at all, it is seemingly outranked by his desire to feed._

_He is highly intelligent and possesses a biting wit, which in another context might even be endearing, and his charm is carefully honed to attract potential victims. Though his mental weaknesses are notable, including his arrogance, lack of self-awareness, and dependence on his victims to take in and retain key skills and information. As opposed to learning the language of a new land through study, he merely drains one of its countrymen and absorbs their inherent knowledge. This leads to a flurry of unpredictable behavior and reckless death, and also speaks of his impatience and lack of discipline, which has undoubtedly lessened with age. He was, in life, an excellent ruler and even better general with a skill for strategy currently wasted on petty mind games. If he could ever reach a point of managing his appetite for blood and destruction, he could be an invaluable resource - a first-hand witness to the last four hundred years of European history._

_I’m sure you will, dear brother, quickly dismiss this as folly, but however much you would like to categorize him as yet another mindless demon from the pit, I assure you he is anything but. He may fear the cross, but don’t think there is a heavenly power that instilled that fear. It reeks of an entirely human weakness. You would do well to remember that, should you run across him or any of his kind in the future. While his existence seems to have been very luck of the draw, it’s nowhere near as anomalous as Dracula himself would like us to believe. Others could have survived and done what he has done. In fact, I could almost guarantee it._

Zoe read through Agatha’s words again, this particular afterward for maybe the twentieth time since she’d found it. Not for any particular information, more over just marveling at the clarity, simplicity, and dare-she-say _fondness_ with which it was written, in comparison to the information she’d been brought up with. Shockingly, the nun was able to more realistically sum up the vampire than any other Van Helsing before or after her (granted, she had the firsthand experience), and with so much less fire and brimstone, religious nonsense. It was half of why she’d spent so long away from ‘the family business’ as it were, until she’d had to take over the institute. Science had always been the only god she would acknowledge.

Whatever logic Agatha had administered from across the pond however, while well used, had been entirely riddled with her elder brother’s showmanship and particularly Catholic brand of fending off the forces of darkness. Agatha may have seen him as the devil incarnate, but that didn’t stop her from acknowledging his humanity – and in that, Zoe couldn’t help but agree. Dracula was very much still a man, no matter how immortal or powerful, and he still had all of man’s other weaknesses, sans physical vulnerabilities. Minor detail.

She supposed it had made it easier for both the zealot and the scientist to see their subject of animosity as no better than a rabid dog that needed to be analyzed and destroyed. But that had never been the case at all. A self-serving lesson to learn, she had to admit, but an important one. So long as he had retained some of his humanity, there was certainly hope for her.

It was the only thing keeping her sane through the mock trial this experiment had turned into. Every turn she was being questioned and analyzed harder than she had since grad school, and yet still regarded as the antagonistic and dangerous party. It was a contradiction that made her genuinely question the mental capacity of her colleagues. 

Yes, let's aggravate the person we're terrified of. _Honestly_. 

Their latest critique, however she loathed to admit it, was actually sound. They needed a control. A 'direct contact' feed to compare to her bottled one, and they all knew there was only one vampire to compare to. Clearly they didn't _actually_ expect him to participate, they only wanted to de-legitimize her process. 

But it would make an impact, wouldn't it?

\-----

It was just before sunset, traces of red just beginning to seep onto the surface of the sun, and for the first time in a great while, Count Dracula was _unenthused_. He was beginning to be rather fond of daylight, even if it came with certain disadvantages, as he was beginning to discover. Perhaps vampires were better off as creatures of the night after all. 

Most if not all of his preternatural abilities were greatly weakened by the sun, though why he wasn't sure. It made him feel languid and slow, which was perfectly fine for an afternoon on the beach, but highly inconvenient when he got hungry and none of his more willing resources were available. Physical conditioning or a lesser reality of the lore he'd always accepted, who was to say?

Who _indeed._

He had given Zoe plenty of space to run her little experiments without interference, aside from keeping an 'eye' out to ensure she wasn't in any immediate danger. But there was only so long that would last, and despite having ample opportunity to create more brides...he felt like he needed more answers before that inevitability occurred. 

Agatha had been right, annoyingly, as usual. Lab rats were not something he needed, especially ones who could question him on topics even he didn't fully understand anymore.

If the Van Helsing women were good for anything, aside from healthy competition, it was certainly bluntness and clarity. Being the only thing close to another vampire of any mental capacity to be in his proximity for over 300 years certainly didn't hurt. 

Zoe Van Helsing was someone he needed, a concept he could scarcely understand and wasn't entirely fond of, but if he wasn't mistaken, she needed him as well - and hated it even more.

\----

"Dr. Helsing, is this really necessary?"

Zoe found herself staring at the younger but far more egotistical doctor through the glass that separated them with an expression not unlike one would give a particularly frustrating insect who refused to die as fast as she wished it would.

"Is what necessary?"

The man, Dr. Connors, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, punctuating his next words with unnecessary flare.

"Well, _our sponsor_ doesn't understand the necessity of this trial, when it cannot possibly _prove_ anything. All of our intel on the 'vampiric condition' states simply that they require blood to sustain life, but also that it's nearly impossible to kill them. Surely your continued … _existence_ without blood doesn't fully prove or disprove anything. And without anything to compare it to…"

"For now," she interrupted stubbornly, attempting to ignore his tendency to discuss her as though she were a theoretical construct. 

"Even so," he continued blandly, "There are surely better uses of our time, in the face of an increasing number of...undead. Preventative measures, protection for the innocent. Unless you can get some sort of control data…"

Their 'sponsor' had sent this idiot to report back on how his precious money was being spent, and it had become an increasingly infuriating thorn in her side. Or stake in her heart, she was sure he hoped. Zoe had just begun to second guess her tendencies toward homicide, when she felt the tell-tale hairs begin to rise on the back of her neck. 

"Oh _fuck me_ ," she cursed aloud, completely indifferent to the confused looks of those observing her. They wouldn't be confused for long. 

"Careful what you wish for Doctor."

Everyone but Zoe took a startled glance around. She turned around, eyes directly finding the dark ones on the outside of the glass, quirking a stern brow despite the relative chaos of everyone else receding into the corners in panic. 

Count Dracula merely flashed her a shit-eating grin in response, relishing her disapproval in equal measure to the human fear beginning to fill the room. Pungent and yet _satisfying_ , she noted, rather unhappily. 

"Oh Zoe how the tables have turned," he couldn't resist prodding at her through the encasement, ignoring the guns pointed at his back in favor of taunting her, hands in his pockets. The picture of malicious nonchalance. 

She wasn't trapped, as he had been. They'd learned their lesson in that regard at least, but it was a barrier she'd permitted for her own sanity. Watching everyone walk on eggshells around her was grating, and it ruined her focus. Plus, it helped with the sensory overload until she got more accustomed to it. 

"And yet you're still the one at gunpoint," Zoe shot back with a hint of a blithe smile.

He turned and directed his overly fond smile towards the tattooed gentleman with the over-sized assault weapon, greeting him like an old friend. The man that Zoe had never seen with a single facial expression looked so dumbstruck that she had to fight down a laugh. This was apparently the last straw for their visiting dictator.

"Count Dracula," came more of a squeak than a shout from the bespectacled doctor's mouth, with such a forced amount of distaste that Zoe was now certain he had lost his mind entirely. "You will not be permitted to attack anyone here."

Shooting Zoe an incredulous look, mostly as she could read translating to _Is he serious?_ , the vampire watched her answering eye roll very obviously telling him _He's an idiot, but reports to the money._

Dracula finally looked away from their silent exchange, and took out a small pocket flask, not unlike the one he'd left her before, and shook it in the other man's general direction as he passed by him with total indifference.

"Not to worry, I brought my own," he stated, opening it and taking a long swig. It cleared a direct pathway for him easily, bee-lining for Dr. Bloxham who sat at the control panel. She naturally flinched on his approach, despite trying to hide it. He noticed and flashed her a charming smile, to his credit only showing the slightest hint of fang. 

"Terribly sorry about the finger," the Count apologized humbly, almost convincingly sincere as he draped a long arm over the back of her chair. "...But would you mind letting me in?"

Bloxham looked somewhat confused. "You _want_ to go in there?" Her eyes shot up to the ceiling. The sun had not completely set. He gave her an encouraging smile with a faint trace of pity. 

"I would _love_ to go in there."

Zoe merely rolled her eyes and tapped on the table with relative impatience, as he paced through the parted seas of scientists and interns alike to join her in the completely ineffective glass prison.

"You _evil_ little thing, you didn't tell them," he accused with quiet glee as he approached her from the opposite side of the table. 

"If their superstitions help them feel safe, then all the better for me," she excused in a murmur, hoping he hadn't just given the game away completely. 

His grin was one of near pride, as he bent his tall form forward to rest his hands on the table. "I can go slit his throat if you want me to. _Heaven knows_ you won't."

She sighed, not trusting herself to answer. "Why are you here?" she asked instead.

"You needed me, didn't you?"


	9. Challenges and Accords

_"You needed me, didn't you?"_

Zoe quirked a skeptical brow at the Count's surface-level consideration, not buying its sincerity for a moment. But that certainly didn't mean she wouldn't take advantage of it. As wont she was to admit it, she did in fact 'need him' for once. 

"Do you even know what I need you for?" She asked, curious.

"I believe I 'get the gist' - you need to compare the effects of proper sustenance to whatever muck you've concocted. And considering you're refusing to properly nourish yourself to make that comparison, then naturally I'd be the only acceptable substitute."

She nodded, a smirk tilting her mouth to one side. "What do you want?"

He blinked in what was _almost_ mistakable for innocent confusion. 

"I'm sorry?"

Zoe scoffed, smirk still in place. "Don't pretend you're going to inconvenience yourself for something you completely disapprove of and not expect anything in return," she prodded knowingly. _"Out with it."_

The Count mirrored her smirk, taking her in with silent consideration. He could hear the whispers from the humans around them outside of the glass, those both panicked and conspiratorial, though they made for a pleasant bit of background noise to their negotiation. He understood that was exactly what it was, after all, anytime they spoke, and he was looking forward to the challenge. 

"We both want the same thing, Dr. Helsing."

"And what is that?"

"To understand ourselves and in turn, each other," he replied simply, gesturing between them. "And funnily enough, neither of us can do that alone."

"Are none of your other 'experiments' going well?" She couldn't help but ask dryly.

He quirked a smug brow at her tone, the accusation of _jealousy_ remaining unsaid but no less audible for it. 

She scoffed, looking down at the table in annoyance.

"Perhaps I'd rather wallow in my success before risking disappointment."

"Poke and prod at your success you mean?"

"In a manner of speaking," he grinned, though seeing her returning glare, as endearing as it was, he redirected his approach slightly. 

"From one scientific mind to another, you know as well as I do that working together is the best way to each get the answers we're looking for."

"I told you I wouldn't help you infect all of London," Zoe persisted, though more weakly than she'd originally intended.

He gave a shrug of his left shoulder. "For all you know, you could be encouraging me not to. Depends on what our findings are, yes?"

She narrowed her eyes, though he could see Agatha's vehement disapproval radiating through Zoe's wavering will. 

"Since when did you learn patience?"

Dracula's amusement wavered, accusation coloring his tone, though it was too soft to belly resentment. "Since I learned there's nothing to be impatient for."

Zoe frowned, studying him further. "You won't harm anyone here." 

It wasn't a question, though unlike when Dr. Connors had demanded the same, Dracula gave a short nod of agreement, eyes never leaving hers. 

They made an interesting sight, if the focused attention was anything to go by. Two dark haired creatures of the night in what appeared to anyone outside the glass to be a standoff. Their conversation had been mostly spoken in murmurs - to their ears perfectly audible, but even with the sound enhancement, from the outside practically silent. A frustrating thing, if the purple hue of Dr. Connors' face was anything to go by, as Zoe briefly observed when she finally took her eyes off the vampire to observe their onlookers. 

"Fine. But I still maintain my diet, and I want to know everything you know - no secrets, no assumptions," Zoe conceded, her stubborn posture relaxing only faintly. She couldn't completely let down her guard, even around him. "And I'll offer the same."

His lips tilted. "Are you saying you have secrets now?" He asked, his eyes glinting mischievously. 

"Maybe I do," she replied, her poker face in full deployment. 

The Count's brows gave a playful wag as he held out his hand, large and clawed as it was, over the table that separated them in a gesture of relatively peaceful acceptance. 

"We have an accord then? From one lab rat to another."

Zoe studied it for a half a moment, the hand that had been wrapped with no effort at all around her throat not long before, before finally placing her petite hand in his, immediately feeling his long fingers curling around the whole of it. She could only grasp them in turn to hold her ground, forcing the image from her mind for multiple reasons, namely his ability to peek at it.

"We do. Permitted that you behave yourself."

"Only when absolutely necessary," he assured her in only a breath above a whisper with his most charming grin. 

She rolled her eyes in return, but didn't argue. That was the best she could hope for with him. 

There was an audible _ah-ha-hem_ projected into the room, and they both turned with unenthused expressions towards the persistent if still clearly terrified face of Dr. Connors. Dracula’s upper lip curled upward in a quiet snarl and Zoe gave him a side-eye which he only faintly acknowledged.

“Count Dracula will be our control, we’ll reconvene after later testing,” Zoe announced loudly, and much to her pleasant surprise, despite looking like he wanted to argue, the other doctor just gave a curt nod and quickly began to gather his things to leave. Probably to go ‘report back’, she was sure. The rest of her colleagues seemed to be joining suit just as quickly if not more so. She looked back at the vampire’s faintly amused expression only to just take note of the fact that he hadn’t let go of her hand, and quickly pulled it back from his grasp. 

His lips pursed slightly, but he didn’t, much to her relief, seem inclined to rub the slip of comfortability with him in her face, at least not at the moment. _Thank heaven for small mercies._

“I suppose I should leave you to your preparations before I frighten anyone else away,” Dracula mused aloud, already gesturing outward to Dr. Bloxham to open the door – he could’ve just forced it easily, but he had said he would try to ‘behave’. Destroying their elaborate, if entirely useless toy cage would certainly be frowned upon – at least until they figured out exactly how useless it was. Now that was a day he was looking forward to.

“I do that perfectly fine all by myself, thanks,” she replied wryly, gathering her things and joining him where he awaited her by the exit, so used to playing the gentlemen she wasn’t sure if he even realized how much of a default it had become as he fell into step at her side. 

“Wait until I teach you how to do it properly,” he suggested with a wag of his brows.

“I suppose that’s part of your experimentation process,” she replied blandly, turning towards him as they paused just outside of the main chamber.

“Naturally. Plus, it just sounds like fun,” the Count couldn’t help but admit, a gleeful smile brightening his features. “I want to, as Agatha enjoyed putting it, see the limit of your capabilities’.”

“And apparently the limits of my patience,” she prodded back, gesturing her head towards the elevators. “You saw your way in, I expect you can see your way out. I have work to do.”

“Good night, Zoe. And do try not to poison me again,” he made a mocking gesture of praying hands that brought him far more amusement than it really should have, before she saw him turn to walk away. 

She took a much heavier breath than she really needed to. What in the _hell_ had she just agreed to?

\-----

It was pitch black when the vampire found himself re-entering the bounds of London proper, drawn by the crowds of lives and the unmistakable need for sustenance. He perused his phone, skimming past a decent hoard of messages from some of his more persistent conquests – he wasn’t exactly in the mood to play to anyone else’s whims tonight, and certainly not anyone vying for immortality. Normally he was delighted to corrupt the willing human mind, but as always in the wake of facing the trademark Van Helsing defiance, he found himself craving more of a challenge. A tiresome side effect, to be sure. 

There was much to be had from good, old fashioned subservience, but every once and a while he did appreciate having to make an effort. Alas, the minute anyone discovered what Dracula was, they tended to attempt to appease him. _No, please, I’ll do whatever it is that you want. Don’t kill me._ Or they just downright bared their throat like a sacrificial lamb. A beautiful thing to behold, but hardly satisfying. And the aftertaste of idiocy that someone trying to fight him in earnest would leave made him cringe. 

No, he needed an unsuspecting meal this evening. The Count’s thumb hovered over Kat’s name in his phone, lingering there for a long moment before heaving a dramatic sigh and putting the mobile device away entirely. Unsuspecting, yes, but she was too clever to remain that way for long if he made feeding from her a regular occurrence. He wanted to save her for a… later occasion. Seeing how long he could keep up the façade of humanity with her was an amusement, while fun, he didn’t have the patience for at the present.

He took to the streets instead, perusing his options - an old evil in a new world. It was beginning to storm, but in England that hardly limited his options by much. The expectation of rain seemed to be so ingrained into the minds of the locals that it didn’t even cause most of them to speed up or pause like it would elsewhere in the world. Even in the brightest sun, it seemed to him that the common businessman would sooner be caught without an umbrella than a warrior of old be caught without his sword. Just such a man caught Dracula’s eye.

Leant up against an aging brick wall under the awning of a restaurant with his umbrella at his side, the man was utterly oblivious to other passerby, a look of stern concentration on his face directed at his mobile phone quickly melting into impatience. It gave the vampire a moment to study him in proper detail. He was perhaps just over thirty, fine of feature, but well dressed in a way that spoke of refinement without determination. His expensive suit was crumpled, his hair tousled, and he sported a rough day-old shave that looked more like indifference than ineptitude while a half-smoked cigarette hung lazily from his lips. 

Clearly, this was not a man who would be difficult to lure away. In fact, his very countenance radiated someone who wanted an escape and was failing to find one. _Perfection_ , Dracula thought as he made his way up the darkened alley that exited on the narrow walk where he stood, leaning against the opposite side of the wall. 

“Someone run over your dog?” He asked in a wry, pseudo-casual way, pulling out his own phone from his coat pocket.

The man looked up, in mild surprise, brow furrowed at the older man who he swore hadn’t been there half a second before, though it only stalled him for a moment, pulling the cigarette from his mouth.

“Oh…the wait time for a car’s bloody ridiculous tonight.”

“So I am seeing,” Dracula agreed blandly, scanning his own screen with practiced annoyance. 

“ _Fuck_ I want to get out of here… apologies, this really isn’t my type of 'scene'.”

The vampire chuckled, flashing him a charming smile experimentally. “The stuffy overpriced scene? Congratulations.”

The younger man returned a slightly lopsided grin, though a tad more cautiously. “Yeah, more of a business…thing.” 

“If you're interested in splitting a cab, we could try the main stretch back this way,” Dracula gestured with his head, through the alley he had come through that opened up to a street on the other side with a few more lights than the one they were currently occupying. Granted _if_ one made it through the narrow darkness. 

The younger man disguised his pause of consideration with a final long drag of his cigarette, but proceeded to nod as he flicked the butt into the sewer drain just ahead of them. The vampire could see the brief trail of thoughts as they flicked through the man's eyes with practiced ease. _What harm could it possibly do? Not likely to be a thief, tall but I could take him if necessary._

"Why not? Better than standing about." He agreed, plucking up his umbrella from where it leant against the wall at his side. He didn't bother to open it. 

Taking a last moment to eye his phone and pocket it, Dracula allowed the younger man to begin to walk ahead of him, giving him the lead. His pulse was calm, calmer than most when joining a stranger in a dark place. He'd drank, but nothing substantial, clearly wanting to keep up appearances - not enough to thin out the blood too much or taint the flavor. _Good_ , the vampire conceded, he truly did hate that.

"So where are you headed?" He asked after a moment, interrupting the silence, keeping the man in a comfortable state. Conversation did, after all, proceed dinner. 

Whatever his answer was, the Count didn't bother to acknowledge it, already tuning his ears away from the young man's voice to the steady beat of his heart. He allowed the thrum to overtake him, fill his senses completely until even his forced breaths and his footfalls kept in time with it. 

They had neared the midway point now, and the sounds of other passerby were beginning to taint the pitter patter of rainfall that provided the counterpoint to the lively rush of blood pumping under skin. The younger man paused his slightly speedy pace to check for his packet of cigarettes, but before his fingers could separate the damp material of his jacket, there were jagged bricks at his back and a large hand encaging his throat, halting any chance of escape. 

His brows rose in bewilderment as dank breath cooled his throat, but _just_ before the first tricklings of fear and panic began to descend - the vampire struck, sharpened teeth breaking skin and the coppery aroma of blood perfumed the air. 

The young man's entire body tensed, broad shoulders flexing uselessly against Dracula's iron grip and the growing wave of lethargy that slowly but surely drug him into easeful darkness. Something akin to a groan, of protest or pleasure he would never know, fell from his slackened lips into the night. 

Suppressed fury, intelligence and crushing waves of obsession filled the vampire’s mouth. A search for a man with no face, a splatter of blood on porcelain, and the love of a man with dead eyes and an angel’s face. 

He’d always been a _sucker_ for the tragic ones. 

\----

Zoe’s head wrung with rhythm of a stranger’s heart, thumping faster and faster and then slowly, ever so slowly easing back into a distant low hum. She froze, waiting with equal parts sickening dread and impatience for the pulse to stop completely and still to deadly silence...but the moment of death never came. Once again, Dracula had left his victim to a peaceful slumber - for how long, she didn’t know. She never knew. But somewhere in the night thunder clapped, and she could feel the pang of excitement and strangely, the hollow feeling of loss that accompanied it as lighting cracked the sky soon after. 

His name was Malcolm and he was dreaming peacefully of vengeance.

\----


	10. Interruptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck so hard, I am so sorry this took so long. I should not allow myself to multitask stories, it never works well.

It began as a mundane annoyance more than an actual  _ problem _ , per se. It's not as though he was ever not annoying, so at first she was content to ignore the nitpicking at her mind and memories. One moment Zoe would be doing something perfectly normal (or as normal as she could get nowadays), and the next she'd be tangibly shoved into some spontaneous recollection from her past. 

Currently laundry, then her grandmother's funeral. She had been 11, it had been a stroke, and the only thing she'd learned from it had been how badly she wanted to avoid family functions. Any emotion she'd held for the woman had long ago dissipated to memory, and at that he seemed to lose interest in prying, same as every other time. No reaction, no resistance? He skimmed on. 

It became clear that Dracula was trying to provoke a response from her, though what exactly he was trying to gain from it she wasn't sure at first. His roving attention probed deeper and deeper, and she could feel his patient determination as he tossed out more private, intimate details. Teenage rebellion, the more chaotic portions of her collegiate experience, her family, her limited but always doomed romantic life - he was looking for a vulnerable nerve. 

Sadly for them both, vulnerability wasn't exactly her strong suit. It took a  _ lot _ to squeeze emotions out of her or so had always been her experience. Even on death's door she refused to go too soft. God forbid she  _ lose _ on the home stretch. When the feelings had finally caught up to her, it was mainly anger and pure, unbridled frustration. 

But he wasn't looking for that, she realized finally as she found herself pacing the cliffside over Whitby bay, feeling him tugging at a few  _ familial _ strands she'd done her best to bury. He was looking for something worse than that, and all too appropriate given what Agatha had confronted him with not that long ago:  _ shame _ . 

_ He wants you to try to force him out. Get it over with before I do it for you.  _

Zoe frowned, seating herself on a crumbling stone bench abruptly.. Normally anymore Agatha was more of an abstract intrusion than a true, separate voice to acknowledge. The bored tone in which it was uttered made Zoe realize all too quickly that her memories weren't the only ones being toyed with. And while her own style of defiance was to simply refuse to give a shit, Agatha wasn't one to allow for intrusion. 

As more distant and unfamiliar experiences bloomed behind her eyes, Zoe felt the undercurrents of chaos forming as an unstoppable force faced an immovable object. Clearly Dracula was determined to test her mental capabilities with or without her cooperation - if she wouldn't play, he knew well that Agatha couldn't resist the chance to oppose him. A migraine waiting to happen, at the very least. 

Shutting her eyes, Zoe focused hard on locking her mind down and pushing him out. She envisioned a nice  _ reflective _ steel wall slamming down between them, just for the sake of spite. 

_ Ah, finally _ . She could hear him murmur softly yet still the sound echoed through her mind as though he had breathed the words into a microphone. 

_ Were you born this annoying?  _ She thought distinctly into the void, knowing he would hear it. She could almost feel his chuckle. 

_ I've had centuries to hone my skills.  _

Zoe could simultaneously feel Agatha's scoff of derision.  _ The skill of being a cock? _

This had the opposite effect than the former nun had wanted, clearly, because his utter delight was overwhelming.

_ Oooh. That wasn't very holy of you.  _

Zoe groaned aloud.

"Can we do this in person please? You're giving me a fucking headache!"

She was very glad she'd decided on a solitary location. 

_ Absolutely. IF you can find me and deflect me at the same time. _

She grumbled further curses, forcing herself to stand, but then just as quickly halted her own progress with a sudden scoff of self-annoyance. Why was she even playing this game?

"You know what?  _ No! _ Piss off, you're meant to be in my office in a couple hours, I'll deal with you then."

And before he could let loose anymore distracting whispers she forced some soundproofing against that mental wall she'd constructed, hopefully shutting him the hell up for a while. Until she actually had to  _ see  _ him anyway. 

_ Ha! Good job! _

"Oh you be quiet too," she grumbled out loud as she headed back towards the institute, ignoring the worried look an old man walking past with his dog shot her way. 

\-----

Regardless of what she may assume, Dracula was  _ extremely _ pleased at both Zoe's outward defiance and her burgeoning capabilities. She clearly had more power than she was aware - or wanted to acknowledge, that much was clear. Agatha's continued influence on her was another amusement to him, even if it worked against him. Hell, mostly  _ because _ it worked against him, if he were honest. Though who was influencing whom was an intriguing grey area he had every intent to explore further. 

Alas, now was his turn to play the guinea pig. She had asked him to come hungry - though not to the point of recklessness, whatever she assumed that was. He had settled on what the English commonly referred to as 'peckish' _ ,  _ and did what he always felt he rightly  _ should _ do upon arrival to The Jonathan Harker Foundation: calmly waltz straight through the front door. 

He was, to his surprise and minor disappointment, permitted to do so without complaint - more or less. There were certainly some looks of unease and even a few glares - heaven forbid, from the few  people he observed meandering about, but clearly everyone had been pre-warned to his arrival. Unfortunate, he did prefer to make an entrance. 

"Hurry up, will you, it's hard enough to keep even half staffed without the threat of exsanguination," Zoe's impatient voice intruded upon his brief moment of scientist-watching, causing him to turn his head at a leisurely pace to where she was peeking around the corner. The one disadvantage of her current state: he could never surprise her. 

"You did tell me to come hungry," he pointed out, watching a young blonde take a brisk walk past them down the corridor under Zoe's impatient glare. 

"And you say  _ I _ scare them away," he pouted. 

Her eyes practically rolled out of her head before she wordlessly made her way back to her office, expecting him to follow. 

He hid a smirk and did as she wished, though she halted just inside the door, forcing him to pause in the midst of his much larger stride. 

"Try to  _ behave _ . I have to record this."

His brows lifted, a decent attempt at startled innocence. 

"By all means," he stated in permit, ignoring her main request deliberately, relishing her infuriated sigh as she continued towards her chair. He plucked up another seat and placed it on the opposing side of her desk, without verbal invitation, though he knew she would ask him to. Given her mildly disturbed look, this was clearly a skill she still needed to fully come to terms with. 

Zoe shot him one last look of warning, but he returned only an obnoxiously calm smile before she pressed a button on her digital recorder.

"Count Dracula," she addressed with a formality just on the edge of mocking, "Can you tell me in detail what negative impact extensive periods of hunger have on you as a vampire?"

The count's amusement at her clear dislike of this process was evident, but he responded politely nonetheless.

"Much the same as most humans, honestly, if on a larger scale. Discomfort, fatigue, loss of focus, aggression, a general inability to function… and just as the negative impacts of malnutrition grow more serious over time on people, as do they on vampires. Many of my abilities weaken or cease to work entirely without fresh blood."

"Abilities such as?"

He smirked, tongue shooting out to wet his lips as it often did when he was considering what he should or should not say. 

"Durability against harm, enhanced speed and agility, the strength of many men, and the ability to not look nor feel 500 years old, among other more complicated things."

"So when Jonathan Harker first came to you and said you looked old and withered, that was very literal."

"Of course it was. If mildly exaggerated for ... _ theatricality _ ."

"And as soon as you had 'fresh blood' you grew younger and stronger?"

"Yes."

"So whom the blood comes from makes a difference, not just in flavor, but in its physical impact on you after consumption?"

"Absolutely. You get far more nutrients from a young, healthy cow than a withered and ill one, surely?"

"Logically," Zoe agreed, frowning. "But I sense this isn't an exact correlation."

He chuckled. "No, but you comprehend it I'm sure."

"I'm beginning to. Everything for you is sped up in comparison to other life forms. What strengthens you, what weakens you. What satisfies you… how quickly does what you ingest impact you? Is it instantaneous?"

"That depends how badly in need I am. The last time I was in any "mortal danger" you could say..." he began, gesturing the quote marks with his hands and narrowing his eyes, "it took me a week to return to myself."

"And yet you retained your youth while in a coma under the ocean for 123 years."

"I wasn't expending any energy and I was quite well fed beforehand… you might call it a form of hibernation," he explained simply, but lifted his chin in brief consideration, licking his lips once more. "Or sleep mode, if you will."

Zoe was quiet for a moment. “You said other more complicated things? How complicated?”

He tutted her, with a hint of warning in his eyes. “On the record? More complicated than I think I could explain.”

She sighed, hand hovering over the button on the recorder, if not actively halting it. “And off the record?”

“Well, I would consider it far more entertaining to show you, but let’s break it down to: enhanced senses, transmogrification, transfiguration, skinwalking, telepathy, mind control - at least in the sense of being able to manage what others see and process,  _ minor _ weather manipulation, most nocturnal creatures can be at my beck and call in seconds, and of course as a natural predator I do have the ability to both control and incapacitate my prey - I produce a natural opiate, it works as a sedative and induces a dream state with which I use my other mental skills in order to control and the information gleaned from the blood I imbibe to sugarcoat.”

It all was stated with a deceptively casual and droll tone that one would think he were shooting off a resume, and not even a particularly impressive one, if it weren’t for the glint of pride in his eyes. It was all very normal to him - it fucking would be, Zoe knew, but he still had a constant air of challenge about his person. It was as though he was always prepared to prove his power, even when absolutely unnecessary.

As though he’d, at some point or another, had  _ competition _ , she realized with sudden blazing curiosity, and not just in the form of a stubborn nun. She opened her mouth to ask another question, but before she could get so far as that, he’d already seen it coming, and placed a long index finger to her lips.

“Zoe, you did not invite me here to play  _ Interview With A Vampire  _ much as I’m sure it amuses you, so let’s get on with your latest attempt at giving me a stomach ache, shall we?”

Her eyes rolled, her shoulders slumping visibly with mild annoyance as she stood up to go fetch something from the corner of the room, eyeing him with suspicion at his sudden shift of tone. “Fine. But I do plan on interrogating you further.”

“Looking forward to it, now let's get on with it.”

Returning with a tinted beaker in hand, she met his clear loss of enthusiasm with a bit of smug amusement, just at the irony. “You’re such a baby when you don’t eat, honestly. Okay, you are going to drink this - and tell me, in real time how you feel. Understood?”

He looked markedly disinterested, but took the vial from her anyway, with all the focused disdain of a child being given cough syrup. He sniffed it, giving an expression of extreme confusion and Zoe had to muffle a snicker. 

Dracula’s dark eyes locked on hers as he took a completely unnecessary breath for dramatic effect, and then downed the entire thing in one gulp. Ballsy move, she had to admit, but probably better than watching him whine his way through a series of sips. 

He made a sputtering noise as his tongue seemed to run the whole length of the roof of his mouth and back again, his brows furrowing so deeply she could barely see his eyes.

“ _Ungh_. Tastes revolting. Are you sure you’re not trying to poison me again? ”

“As though your taste buds would know anything, they literally have had zero variety in 500 years.”

“Excuse you, I would have you know the flavors of blood vary wildly, and I am very attuned to those variances.”

Zoe sighed. “Whatever. Ignore the taste. That can be improved. Do you feel less hungry?” 

The count pursed his lips. “ _ Yes _ ,” he grumbled reluctantly. “But at what cost?!”

She smirked, triumphant, but it was shortly lived, already focused on assessing further. That was only part of the battle, as he’d unfortunately made clear to her. 

“What else do you feel?”

He stiffened his back, eyes rolling, but finally closing and he sat there in statuesque silence for a number of moments. When he opened his eyes, at length, he was chuckling. 

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” he announced, bluntly. “Less hungry, fine, yes. But it’s ...lacking somehow. There’s no...power. No rush.”

“It’s feeding your hunger, but not your addiction,” Zoe simplified.

“Not  _ just _ that, Zoe,” Dracula countered impatiently, pushing himself to his feet. “It’s… what most humans would compare to a protein shake. It may have all the necessary nutrients, your stomach’s not empty, might be fine for a meal or two, but it’s not a permanent solution. Empty calories.”

“Well I certainly haven’t keeled over yet,” she defended for the sake of argument.

He held up a finger in pointed protest. “You also haven’t reached your full potential yet. And  _ this _ is why.”

She stood up as well, not about to have him loom over her and condescend her at the same time. 

“And become like you? Ever think that perhaps I don’t want to!”

He merely smiled at her, that same impatient but amused smile that he met her with on the beach, and often put towards her whenever she tried so hard to contradict him. 

“Keep telling yourself that, darling,” he finished, narrowing his eyes at her knowingly as her face contorted in entirely self-directed infuriation at having allowed him to annoy her, and even further at having apparently dropped her guard enough for her to see her inner conflict so plainly. 

“Now, if we’re finished for now, I am going to go wash that taste out of my mouth with a nightcap, which you are, as always, free to join me for. But, as I’m sure your stubbornness will persist, I will be in touch later.”

“Oh joy, I can’t wait for another migraine,” she sighed with obviously false enthusiasm.

“Well, if you’d learn to play along…”

“Just. Go.”


	11. Appetite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been over a month, and I am very very sorry. My laptop died, but from it's ashes my newly built PC has risen and can no longer be my excuse for not posting. This is a short one, but hopefully the excess of Agatha will make up for it <3

"Stop looking at me like that."

Kate Bloxham made a show of looking back down at her notes, though the comically pursed lips did nothing for Zoe's nerves nor could fool anyone into thinking she was anything but amused by the conversation she was 'quality checking' through her stereo headphones. Zoe could hear it clearly regardless, which didn't help at all. A soft growl settled in her throat as she paced on the other side of the room. 

" _ Very _ informative," Bloxham enunciated innocently, pulling off her headset and laying it down cautiously, forcing back a chuckle as she rummaged for a practical question instead of the first one that truly came to mind. "Do you...believe he's exaggerating at all?"

Zoe sighed loudly, almost tempted to lie, but didn't have the patience to bother. Plus what would that prove anyway? That she was frightened or in denial, or intimidated ...impressed?

"I dunno. Not really." 

Zoe rubbed her temples, eyes closed as she tried to separate the pounding of her head from the beating of the other woman's heart, determined to ignore both. When she dared to open them she caught the tail end of Bloxham's smirk. 

_ "What?" _

"Nothing! You just...argue like an old married couple, it'd be almost adorable if he weren't a homicidal maniac."

Zoe scoffed with an exaggerated note of disgust, just for good measure. 

"Not you too."

The other woman rose her hands in mock surrender, though couldn't resist another prod.

"I take it he's already expressed an interest, then."

"Either because I'm the only thing even close to a functional vampire he's managed to spawn or because I look like a dead nun he kidnapped a century ago - yes, I'm  _ so flattered _ ."

“Hey - silver linings. I’d take it,” she tossed out, only half serious, as she checked off a few things on her clipboard. “Alas I don’t have a death wish. You’d at least live through it.”

Zoe’s eyes rolled. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

Bloxham’s frown was palpable, however.

“Oh god, what now?”

Looking mildly annoyed still at the already astute woman suddenly predicting her intentions from across the room, it passed quickly as she weighed the negative impact of her next words.

“You know... _ scientifically speaking _ , he’s right.”

_ “What?” _

“You know what I mean, Zoe. I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s admirable - but there’s absolutely no reason for you to completely bypass what you know should be your natural form of sustenance just to prove a point. What you’ve accomplished is absolutely an amazing thing, and will be highly useful. But supplementing it with the real thing would be ideal - you know we already have a safe-feeding plan in place, and have since the very beginning. Pre-stored donations are also an option - we have plenty of defibrillated samples, and knowing what we know now about how the feeding process impacts vampires, full donor profiles could be easily compiled…”

Zoe swallowed the initial angry retort that sat at the tip of her tongue, knowing full well that it was a foolish thing to try to argue, logically. And what would she even say - that she was frankly terrified of giving in to the hunger, that it was much easier to just lament in half-satisfying it and being mildly miserable for eternity than being a slave to an urge she couldn’t fully control? All true, but all terribly telling and while a friend and coworker, Bloxham was also bound by the same rules she was. If she gave any indication of being a danger to the public…

“ _ I know _ ...it will eventually be necessary, but I’d like to avoid it as long as possible,” she settled on simply, forcing a calm demeanor and watching her colleague’s tense posture settle somewhat back to normal.

“All right...I just don’t want you to unnecessarily weaken yourself, just in the event something were to happen. I know he already won’t shut up about it, but doing it on your own terms might help.”

“Fuck, he’d probably be more entertained by that than if he thought he’d ‘convinced me’.”

“Zoe, you could come at him with a stake the size of a christmas tree and he’d find it entertaining,” the other woman couldn’t help but point out, standing to her feet to prepare to leave the room. 

She blinked, an even further perplexed frown settling her mouth into a straight line. 

“Sadly I really can’t argue that.”

Bloxham straight up laughed, then, a safe distance away and halfway out the door. “God’s sake, just do us all a favor and give the man something else to do with his mouth than boast or bite, would you?”

"Oh piss off!"

The door shut just quickly enough to protect her from the notebook that flew in her direction, crashing into the wood and landing on the floor with a smack. Only after that did Bloxham poke her head back in. 

"Just saying!"

\-------

It was a just before sunset when Zoe was finally back to work at a semi-normal pace. She’d fed - well, pseudo-fed and been away from the rest of the human populace of the Foundation for most of the day after Bloxham’s rather annoying visitation. She had for the most part kept her mind off of Dracula’s very existence, surprisingly - that was until his voice shocked her out of her stupor.

“Boo!”

_ “Fuck!”  _ She gasped, starting out of her chair into a bolt-upright position, shooting a suspicious glare to the man who loomed in the shadows behind her. Normally she felt him coming, at least enough to prepare herself.

He chuckled darkly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she stated, probably the most insincere thing she’d ever heard.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”   


“Oh, I’m not. _ Here _ , I mean. Corporeally speaking.”

The doctor narrowed her eyes at him, stepping closer. Now that she was observing him properly, he did look a bit... transparent. All the lines and structure of a man, but made up of what almost looked to be swirling mist instead of flesh and fabric.

“Are you  _ astral projecting _ into my office?”

“I suppose that’s one way to put it, yes,” Dracula confirmed thoughtfully, licking his lips as he considered the context of that terminology, probably through the veil of at least twenty other people's minds.

Her brow quirked wryly, after a beat of hoping for an explanation and getting none. “May I ask why?”

“Just wanted to see if it still worked - it’s been a long time… quite a lot more difficult than I remember,” he voiced with muffled concern, though only every other word was clear, the others fading out as though traveling through water.

“You’re admitting you’re not good at something, that’s a shock.”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered, pointing at her in accusation, his countenance almost seeming to flicker. “But this is supposed to lead to an actual method of transportation, and it’s not cooperating.”

Zoe narrowed her eyes, looking from him to the window at his back, the rays of sunlight seeming to beam through his as it sank lower, and then back to him again with a look of realization.

“Haven’t you done this before, when you just popped up here last time?”

“Just from outside, but _ yes _ .” 

“It was night…”

“So?”

If she weren’t already on to a more important point, and if Agatha weren’t babbling in her head excitedly, she’d probably be getting a lot more amusement out of his frustration. However before she got further, her words were unceremoniously shoved aside, the original Van Helsing taking far too much joy from schooling the vampire of her own accord.

“It’s the sun!”

The Count’s brows furrowed. “Agatha? What about it?”

“You were  _ right _ , just… in the wrong way, as usual. The sun weakens your power.”

Dracula’s brows furrowed impossibly deeper, and Agatha couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, you’re so foolish sometimes. Your body is at home, yes?”

“Correct,” he confirmed, shortly.

“And your bedroom, does it face East or West? West, right?”

His lips pursed tightly, and he resisted the inclination to answer, pacing towards the window to look out at the last remaining dregs of daylight. 

“You’ve still kept to your old schedule, for the most part, or you would’ve taken note by now, I figure,” Agatha continued lightly, probably more kindly than she should have. For all his power, the Count was still a man out of time, after all. Much like herself., if far less encumbered.

“And ironically, that makes you weakest just before you reach full power. Huh. Useful to know.”

“Well, that does explain a lot,” he murmured impatiently, as he bounced on his heels, never looking away from the small window.

“Indeed it does,” she agreed wistfully, a smile tracing the mouth that wasn’t entirely hers. “So vampires are naturally nocturnal creatures.”

“Of course we are,” Dracula confirmed, finally turning towards her, making a point of including the both of them in the ranks, whether they liked it or not. “Surely you’ve noticed a certain pull towards the dark, even if Zoe hasn’t.”

“I’ve always had a pull towards the dark, you would know. And Zoe is hardly much different - we’ve only ever been early risers by necessity. Old  _ habits _ die hard as they say.”

Despite any other disturbance he may have been feeling, a self-indulgent grin erupted on his face, his head tilting to the side as he looked at her in the quickly dimming light, his countenance growing more solid as the minutes passed.

“Are we  _ punning _ now? How appropriate.”

“I’d like to think so,” she replied, clearly pleased with herself. Though her calm smile wavered slightly as he took a noticeably audible step forward, his physical form manifesting in full detail as he paced towards her. The feeling of being in his presence hit her all at once, and it annoyed her far more even than it annoyed her niece, it seemed. 

“Now that you’re not avoiding me, I think we need to have a conversation,” he made a point of suggesting, looming over her in what he probably knew was a fruitless attempt at intimidation, but was nearly amusing to witness nonetheless.

“Do we? Or don’t you already think you know everything?”

It took him a beat to realize that apparently she was still annoyed with him for intruding into her memories. His brow arched curiously, sidetracked.

“You know for a nun, you are awfully cautious about your secrets.”

“Don’t you think that’s  _ why _ I’m cautious about my secrets?”

“ _ Touche _ ,” he conceded without much of a fight, already moving on to his real point. “You know this is going to end badly.”

“What, you babbling? Obviously.”

“Shut up, you know I mean Zoe’s refusal to feed properly. Or are you behind that as well?”

“Her stubbornness is her own,” the former nun admitted, cautiously. “But it comes from a familiar place.”

“The genetic moral compass, how apt,” he sighed, his chest rising and falling simply for show.

Agatha shook her head. “Wrong again. Morality has nothing to do with it.”

“No?” The vampire’s eyes narrowed, disbelief reflected clearly on his face.

“Of course not. It’s not about right or wrong. It’s about control, sorry as I am to say it. It’s why I became a nun, and it’s why she became a scientist. We refuse to let outside forces - even our own appetites - control us, and we must learn everything about them we can in order to defy them, conquering the fear of being overtaken by them,” Agatha explained, the only hesitation projected as her attempt to put into words what had simply always been known to her. 

“Ah, yes. What was it you told me - that you rid yourself of appetite and therefore of fear?” Dracula quoted, smirking down at her in a subtly mocking way. A large hand reached out and brushed some hair off her shoulder, lingering on her collarbone for longer than she liked, making her flinch for all of the wrong reasons.

“But that wasn’t entirely true then anymore than it is now, hm?” 

She merely shot him a glare in response.

“Appetite is what keeps us alive, and honestly it only controls you when you try to defy it. You know that, I know that. And soon enough, so will she. And unless we do something, it will be a rude awakening.”

“What exactly would you like me to do, hm? She can easily force me out if she thinks I’m going to undermine her intentions. And I refuse to advocate her killing innocents, or even anyone not so innocent, because honestly who’s even innocent--”

“ _ Shhhh _ ,” he interrupted, pressing two fingers to her lips before she could babble any further and get her cohabitant’s attention. She huffed, but to his mild surprise didn’t immediately argue, aside from staring at him with stubborn impatience, and he had to muffle a smile at the oddly satisfying yet rare moment of obedience.

“No one said anything about killing anyone, though that will probably end up occurring if she keeps going like this. No, Agatha, what you have over me is an inner voice that goes far more under the radar, shall we say, than mine to impart some logic.”

It was only after he finished saying his piece did he move his digits from her lips slowly, his thumb lingering behind, and her look was as impertinent as ever.

“I won’t make any promises, especially to you.”

“I’m not asking for any - I trust your judgement implicitly,” he stated with curious honesty that made her brows raise in surprise.

“Even when I’ve tried to kill you?”

“Especially then,” he emphasized with a charming grin, backing away from her and towards the wall once again.

“This is demented,” Agatha sighed aloud, an all out commentary for her current ‘existance’,more to herself than to him now. She half-expected him to already be gone.

“Which is exactly your area,” the Count declared in parting, and just as quickly as he had appeared, his body had faded to mist and disappeared once again, leaving the former nun and barely-restrained doctor to their own opposing devices. 

\-------


End file.
